Trials 4: Shadow's Trials
by TerriTrek
Summary: Life aboard Voyager is a complicated thing. Paris, Torres, Kim and Shadow keep on trying. I suck at summaries. Fourth in a series.
1. Chapter 1

TRIALS FOUR: Shadow's Trials

By

VOY - Trials Series - P/T, K/f

Rated PG-13 for adult themes

DISCLAIMER: Everyone knows (or everyone who counts) that Paramount owns the Star Trek Universe and its characters. This is my own work written as an outlet for creativity and not for profit. Special thanks to the PT Collective (y'all know who you are) who created the characters of Ethan Simms, Mikel Hudson, and Janine Lamont. Other characters you don't recognize are my own invention.

Thanks to my beta readers Janet, Tracy, Deb, Chris, and Cheryl (especially for the 'groovy' hint!). And to PJ for endless nagging (excuse me---encouragement! ;P ) which prompted me to be quick about it. Or as quick as I could be in the face of a double attack by REAL LIFE and WRITER'S BLOCK. And to Ann whose advice was not new, but well-timed.

Please do not distribute my work without my permission.

Trials 4: Shadow's Trials, Part One

*************

It was the day after the night that, thanks to Ensign Ethan Simms, came to be known as Full Moon Night---though the term was actually meaningless on a starship traveling through space. That didn't matter. Everyone knew exactly what he meant.

The Security Officer had dubbed the preceding evening with this title because of the sudden rash of wildly inappropriate and otherwise fascinating behaviors that had gone on---the kind of behaviors that on Earth used to be blamed on the presence of a full moon.

These behaviors had resulted in Ethan and his partner, Mikel Hudson, being responsible for taking several crewmen into custody at the very beginning of their usually quiet third shift duty period with charges and counter-charges being tossed back and forth among the participants. Several crewmembers had also been seen coming and going from Sickbay under suspicious and/or noteworthy circumstances which added to fuel to the rapidly spreading flames of gossip.

The ship's grapevine had never been presented simultaneously with so many juicy tidbits to mull over. First, there was the whole Malista Shadow/Harry Kim situation. It seemed that, contrary to the odds in the betting pool, Shadow and Kim were back together again and seemed closer than ever which pleased some and displeased others who'd taken an interest.

In addition, it appeared that there was no truth to one of the wilder rumors---that Tom Paris had caused the rift in his best friend's relationship by attempting to start his own harem---beginning by recruiting Malista Shadow and B'Elanna Torres.

The trio of Shadow, Torres, and Paris had been exercising on the holodeck---not engaging in sexual games. It was a circus program and they intended to demonstrate their new acrobatic skills at the next ship's talent show. They'd been wearing robes when entering and leaving the holodeck because they were wearing tight, revealing costumes appropriate to the setting and physical activities. Many people salivated at the thought---but refused to specify which member of the trio they were fantasizing about---if they weren't envisioning any combination or all three.

The juiciest item of interest concerning the reconciliation dealt with the involvement of Ensign George Natwick. The original rumor was that the ensign had made an unwelcome move on Malista and that Harry Kim had come to her rescue---only to be beaten into unconsciousness by Natwick, who was in turn beaten into unconsciousness by Lt. Tom Paris.

The source of this particular bit of reporting, known for flights of fancy, was immediately discredited by other witnesses who stated that Natwick went looking for Kim, rather than the other way around, and that at the time Malista was nowhere in view. It was also hard to credit that George Natwick, the massively muscle-bound Security Officer who taught self-defense classes, had been beaten into unconsciousness by anyone! Much less that the easy-going Tom Paris had done so---unassisted.

Another twist on the story was that Natwick had attacked Kim at the request of Malista Shadow, who had subsequently been attacked herself by B'Elanna Torres in retaliation and that both women had wound up in Sickbay. Yet another version had the self-defense instructor attacking Tom Paris---no reason given---and being subdued by Malista, B'Elanna, and Harry who all ended up in Sickbay. This one was so farfetched it merited little attention and got no betting action at all.

When the facts, according to the arresting officers, Mikel Hudson and Ethan Simms came out, the story was much less interesting, but still provided a lot of room for speculation for the bored crew of Voyager.

When, why, and how had George Natwick gotten involved? What had he been doing alone with Malista in her quarters for approximately forty-five minutes? Where there was smoke, there was sure to be fire. Something must have been going on! Why else had he left her quarters and gone looking for Harry Kim apparently with murder on his mind? And now that Harry Kim and Malista Shadow were a couple once more, what about George Natwick?

How in the name of Titan's ten moons had Tom Paris (of all people!) managed to not only pin Natwick, but subdue him, until his arrest? And emerge unscathed from the encounter? The pilot was known for being quick with a quip---not with his fists. Still, there was speculation that he might have learned a few tricks in prison. Which provoked a whole other topic of debate.

Another item of much discussion was the arrest of the ship's librarian, Diane Russell on charges of assault. The idea of the shy, tiny woman knocking Freddie Bristow down (and adding insult to injury by kicking him) was so amusing that it was almost impossible to believe. It seemed so out of character, that many talebearers insisted that she had taken the blame for Aron Dalby, the hot-headed former Maquis and the new love of her life.

Neither Aron nor Diane would comment and Freddie Bristow had decided to maintain an uncharacteristically low profile. He couldn't be found off duty, and was all but unapproachable on duty. He was, however, noticeably subdued and not interested in the pursuit of the fairer sex at this time. The gamblers began a pool on when he would begin a new chase---and who his next amorous target would be. They had to have *something* to bet on!

*************

"Everyone's staring," Malista hissed under her breath. She'd tried to avoid the messhall completely for breakfast that morning, but Harry had insisted that they'd done nothing wrong and to hide away from public view would just cause the speculation to increase in geometric proportions.

"Don't look at them," Harry said with an amused smile. It felt strange to be the bold one of a pair. He was usually the quiet one who followed. He tugged on her hand, drawing her closer and slipping his arm around her waist. "Just look at me."

She followed his instructions and found her green eyes ensnared in his dancing dark ones. He was smiling at her. Her own nervous expression melted into a smile. She'd rather look at him than anything or anyone else on the ship anyway. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she trusted him to lead them to the table where Tom and B'Elanna were waiting.

He made it without a misstep---almost a miracle, considering he wasn't watching where he was going. She was so beautiful he found it hard to take his eyes off her. And never more than when she smiled just for him. Of course, it wasn't terribly surprising that he didn't trip. It's impossible to trip---when you're walking on air.

Kathryn Janeway smiled indulgently at the pair, before turning her attention back to her badly needed coffee. Chakotay raised an inquiring eyebrow in her direction. They both had gone a little short on sleep last night. It had been the beginning of the third shift when they'd been called to Sickbay and then to the brig in order to deal with the---consequences---of Full Moon Night, which had taken some time as well.

"Yes, Commander?" the captain said dreamily as she savored her morning caffeine fix. Her expression was that of deep satisfaction. Her coffee was her one real indulgence and she tended to make it last as long as possible.

"Nothing, Captain. Just thinking---how long do you think the peace will last this time?" His brown eyes were twinkling, though he kept a straight face. Her appreciation of coffee had an almost sensual affect on her. He half expected her to purr after each sip.

She suppressed a smile. "Until the next full moon?"

"Or until the next romance goes awry?" Chakotay added, nodding toward the isolated corner table.

Freddie Bristow was trying to blend into the wall as he manfully struggled to eat his breakfast while pretending he didn't know that many of room's occupants were staring at him---and that those who weren't staring were talking about him. The young man was in for a rough few days. His physical bruises had been healed in Sickbay last night, but the embarrassment of the emotional beating he'd taken had, temporarily at least, subdued his youthful exuberance and egocentrism.

The captain hastily set down her coffee cup, before a tremble of laughter could cause a spill. "Do you think he's finally learned a lesson? Or do you need to schedule him for some counseling?"

Chakotay's face took on a pained expression. "Captain, perhaps at the next friendly planet we find, we could attempt to recruit a qualified ship's counselor?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. With a sigh, she drained the last drop of coffee from her cup and studied its emptiness pensively, almost mournfully.

"Would you like another cup of coffee, Captain?" Chakotay teased.

She sent him a reproachful glance as she got to her feet. "Don't tempt me, Commander."

"With coffee?" he asked, a shade too innocently, his dimples deepening.

She narrowed her eyes at him as if sighting him with a weapon. "Let's get to the bridge."

He got to his feet and followed her without another word. His eyes, though, brimmed with mischief---and something warmer.

************************

It was a very long duty shift for those who'd stayed up till the early hours of the morning. B'Elanna Torres was not the type to be pumped for information or teased so she was left in peace to pursue her stated goal of making the Engineering Department one hundred percent efficient.

Harry Kim and Tom Paris spent their shift on the bridge under the watchful eyes of the captain, the first officer, or both, so there was no opportunity for others to get at them in order to seek facts or express opinions.

Malista Shadow, on the other hand, was assigned to Maintenance and Repair and, therefore, was out and about the ship carrying out her duties---which made her the most obvious source of information. And the most obvious target for the innuendoes, prying questions, and unsought advice offered by other crewmembers. It was unfortunate that she was also the least prepared of the foursome for dealing with that kind of public pressure. Some questions were idle curiosity, not meant to be taken as unkindly. Others were direct, pointed, and malicious.

So what went on with George last night, Malista?

How did you snare Kim? Did he finally get lonely enough he'd take *any* substitute for his Libby?

What was the problem with Natwick? He's not into group sex?

Did you tell Natwick to hit Kim? Or was that his own idea?

I like Harry Kim. Nice men don't understand how women like you operate. If you hurt him again, you'll be sorry!

You do know that Kim is just lonely? He's using you for sex! Once he's had enough---he'll move on! What will you do then?

It must be nice to have two men on a string. Tell me, what's your secret?

Why buy a shuttle if you can ride for free? Ever hear that expression before?

How long are you and Kim going to be together---this time?

So are you and Kim a couple now? Or are you keeping your options open?

I suppose you think you're going to live happily ever after?

I don't know why you Maquis don't stick with your own kind!

Why did you pick Kim? You think you're on a fast track to promotion?

You're playing games with Kim, aren't you? What's the matter? Too scared of Torres to go after Tom Paris?

Kim isn't the best bet to get ahead on this ship. You should have gone after Chakotay. Or the captain.

Settle a bet for us. Who's better in bed? Tom? Or Harry? Or George?

She didn't know what to say. She wasn't assertive enough to confront them and tell them to leave her alone. So she tried ignoring them, hoping if they got no response they'd leave her alone. She withdrew---mentally and emotionally, when a physical retreat was impossible.

*******

Approaching her immediate supervisor, Malista waited to be noticed and then spoke. "Lt. Torres? I finished the realignment of the forward sensor arrays. Could I have my next assignment now?"

The half Klingon looked up quickly, mildly startled and concerned. The formality in the young woman's manner didn't surprise Torres. They were on duty. It was the usual professional approach. What caught Torres off guard was Crewman Shadow's total neutrality.

Crewman Shadow was no longer smiling as she had been at breakfast. In fact, Crewman Shadow had no expression at all. The carefully blank look that was turned toward the Chief Engineer reminded Torres forcefully of the defensive Malista that she'd hoped had been banished for good. "What's wrong?" B'Elanna snapped.

Shadow stared at her dispassionately. "Nothing, Lieutenant. Could I have my next assignment, please? I don't mind working alone," she added, hoping she wasn't being too pushy and that Torres would take the hint. Malista had never been so conscious as she was at this moment of the difference in rank and the fact that this woman was her immediate supervisor. She didn't want the chief to think she was trying to take advantage of their off-duty friendship.

B'Elanna frowned at her. She growled under her breath as she noticed the two of them were attracting stares from others in the section who'd just 'happened' to wander into the area at this particular time. The growl startled Malista into widening her eyes, but she remained silent.

"Are the idiots getting to you?" Torres said, more loudly than necessary.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as everyone within earshot quickly got busy and pretended deafness. No one wanted to draw the chief's wrath down on his or her head. She'd been in a good mood all morning. The staff preferred for her to stay that way. It made life in Engineering less nerve-wracking.

Torres continued to meet Shadow's eyes unflinchingly, demanding a response. "Well?"

The taller woman swallowed hard. "It's just---everyone's staring. And asking questions." For someone who had managed to remain practically invisible among the Voyager crew for three years, the sudden interest in her every move was difficult to deal with. She could count the number of her friends on her fingers and have a few left over. It was unnerving to think everyone on the ship was talking about her, watching her. It made her extremely self-conscious.

B'Elanna scowled. No one had bothered *her* with such silliness. Of course, it didn't occur to her that no one would dare. Shaking her head, she checked her datapadd for the status of repairs. "Okay, Malista. Go to Shuttlebay One and go over the power coupling relays in the shuttles. They were low priority since we haven't been using them. And don't forget to inspect the couplings in the consoles there."

Shadow nodded with a hint of a grateful smile. "We've almost finished with the power coupling replacements?" she ventured.

"Yes," Torres replied vehemently. "I think we'll be through by end of Beta shift tomorrow. And Kahless knows, it's taken long enough!" She waved a hand in dismissal and returned her attention to her console. Just the words 'power couplings' were enough to cause her to grimace. Replacing the defective parts had been a massive undertaking.

Malista picked up her tool kit and some replacement power couplings and went to Shuttlebay One---where only two crewmen were on duty---and they would be too busy to talk to her. She knew that Torres had just done her a favor. She appreciated it very much. Malista was able to stay out of sight, and hopefully out of mind, for the remainder of her shift.

*************

It took some persuasion to lure Malista to the holodeck later that evening, but Tom insisted they all had something to celebrate. He used his brotherly powers of persuasion---in other words, he complained, whined, and tried to make her feel guilty for turning down his invitation until she gave in. She had a sneaking suspicion that B'Elanna had told him she was upset by the public attention she was receiving.

Shadow decided Tom wanted the ship's gossips to get used to seeing the four of them together and get it out of their systems. Malista did manage to choose a corner table and deliberately sat with her back to most of the crowd. After an hour, she was finally beginning to relax and look around the club to see what everyone else was doing that evening.

Jenny and Megan Delaney approached their table. Tom stiffened. Last night, he'd almost lost his temper when Jenny had told him and Malista about the rumors concerning their relationship. Earlier in the day he had apologized to her for his brusqueness the night before. Now he was wary of Jenny's occasional tactlessness, afraid she would be careless of Malista's vulnerability.

B'Elanna placed a restraining, reassuring hand on Tom's wrist, but eyed the twins suspiciously herself. They weren't by any means her favorite people. Harry took Malista's hand in his and rubbed his thumb across the base of hers soothingly.

"Malista---" the twins said in unison. They stopped and exchanged a glance. Jenny continued alone. "We wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings last night. We thought you should know about the gossip, but we didn't mean to---"

"It's all right, Jenny. Megan. I shouldn't be so---sensitive."

Harry squeezed her hand in a show of support. He'd heard the rumor himself a few days before it had come to the ears of Malista, Tom, and B'Elanna. He'd had sharp words with the 'friend' who'd told him that Tom was engaged in a three-cornered affair with Malista and B'Elanna, and asked if that was why Harry was no longer friends with any of them. Last night, after being dismissed from Sickbay, Harry had spent a couple of hours reassuring Malista that he hadn't believed a word of it---or been hurt by the talk which seemed to be her major concern at that time.

"Could we talk to you a minute? In private?" Megan added. The twins considered Malista a friend and were relieved she was prepared to forgive them.

"Sure." With an apologetic glance at her companions, Shadow got to her feet and followed the two Starfleet officers to a deserted corner of the bar. The watching eyes of other crew members made note of their progress.

The Delaney twins always attracted attention, in part because of their remarkable good looks. The long copper-red hair and lovely features would have been attractive on any woman. But when there were two? Sensory overload.

It was almost impossible to tell which was which this evening. For a change, they had dressed identically, wearing violet blouses and navy slacks. Their hair style was the same and even their expressions were similar. They were both determined to help Malista Shadow. They'd unintentionally been responsible for causing her pain when she'd been nothing but a friend to them. They couldn't live with that on their consciences.

As soon as the three had settled onto the barstools, Megan whispered, "What did George Natwick do?"

Shadow stiffened. "Why? What did you hear this time?" Her face gave nothing away.

The sisters exchanged glances again. Their communication with each other bordered on telepathic. They often didn't need words at all. "We heard he followed you when you left the holodeck---and then the two of you went to your quarters."

"And he stayed there for forty-five minutes. Then he went looking for Harry Kim and tried to take his head off with one punch!"

"And Tom stopped him and he was arrested and then you and Harry showed up together in Sickbay thirty minutes later. And no one pressed charges for anything so he was released," Jenny finished the synopsis in a rush as her breath ran out.

Shadow eyed them appraisingly. "That's all?"

"You don't want to hear the details, trust me," Megan said, laying a hand on the taller woman's arm.

Malista sighed. "No, I suppose I don't."

"So exactly what did George do? Did he get out of line like he did at the Cinco de Mayo party?" Jenny demanded.

Malista licked her lips, which felt suddenly dry. "Why do you want to know?"

Jenny and Megan traded indignant looks. "Because if he did, we want to help you get even with him!" they chorused.

"I warned him after that dance that he'd better leave you alone or we'd make him sorry," Megan added.

Shadow was moved by their championship, but not sure how much she wanted to confide in her friends. The Delaneys were not known for their discretion. The three of them had become friends when the twins had taken her under their wings and done their best to teach her how to flirt and socialize with men.

"Malista, did he---hurt you?" Jenny asked. "I know you might not want to tell

Harry---"

"No!" she protested. "George didn't---he didn't---" She gulped. "I did." She winced at the painfully embarrassing memory.

Megan and Jenny stared at her.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, Shadow leaned closer. "I tried to seduce him. I wanted him to teach me---you know."

Jenny and Megan stared at her.

Malista shifted uncomfortably. "It was all right---at first. But after a while--- when he was--- uh, kissing me and...I called him---Harry."

The twins flinched. "Oooh," they groaned in unison, wearing identical expressions of dismay. "Major mistake."

The other woman nodded. "Tell me about it," she moaned. "That ruined the mood---and George told me no."

"He didn't---" said Jenny.

"He wouldn't---" Megan said.

They thought that over for a moment as Malista fanned herself with a napkin, trying to cool off her blushing cheeks. She couldn't meet their eyes.

"That rat!" Jenny seethed.

"What?" That was not the reaction Shadow had expected. She blinked in confusion.

"He rejected you!" Megan exclaimed indignantly.

Malista frowned. "Well, actually, I'm kind of glad he did. I don't think Harry would have liked it if----"

"And he hit Harry!" Megan added, knowing that would be a sore point for her friend.

That comment relit the smoldering embers of Shadow's anger. "That's true. He did. And George promised not to tell anyone what happened---but he told Harry I was doing stupid things!"

"That man is such a VOLE!" Jenny declared vehemently.

"And he HIT Harry!" Malista reiterated, getting into the mood now. She could have forgiven Natwick for telling Harry to go to her---it had sped their reconciliation. But no one was allowed to hurt Harry! Not and get away with it!

"You have to get even with him," Megan announced.

"Revenge is a moral imperative," Malista agreed. "But how?"

Megan and Malista looked at Jenny who had fallen silent. Her eyes were narrowed and her mouth pursed as she pondered the form of revenge that would fit the crime. A wicked smile slowly crept across her whole face. "Oh, I have the best idea."

With some trepidation, Shadow asked, "What do you think I should do?"

"We, Malista. *We* are going to get Natwick," Delaney corrected.

"Jenny, remember, he sort of did me a favor---I don't want to hurt him! He could have taken advantage---"

"Oh, posh!" the redhead said scornfully. "We won't really hurt him. The best revenge is the one where they're hoisted on their own picard."

Megan's expression went blank. Malista took a split second to process that remark then said, "I think the expression is 'hoist on his own petard'."

Jenny focused on the brunette's face. "What? That doesn't make sense. What's a petard? It makes sense if it's picard. You know, like the captain of the Enterprise. He's not big, but believe me, he's tough! If you made *him* mad, he would hoist your---forget it! It doesn't matter. Computer, location of Ensign Natwick?"

"Ensign Natwick is in Holodeck One."

The trio spun and looked around Sandrine's. Sure enough. There he was. Natwick was sitting alone at a table on the opposite side of the room. They hadn't noticed him. He was glaring at the beer in his hand with a sullen expression that didn't welcome anyone to join him.

"Oh, good," Jenny purred. "We'll start tonight."

"Start what?" Malista asked cautiously.

"Megan, remember what we did to Darok Pahkt at the Academy?" Her twin nodded. Jenny continued, "You don't have to do a thing, Malista. Megan and I will take care of everything."

"Somehow I don't feel reassured by that, Jenny. What are you going to do?"

Megan smiled. "Don't worry about it, Malista. You can trust Jenny."

"I can trust Jenny to do what? I don't want George seriously hurt---physically or emotionally. And I don't want to be responsible for anyone else winding up in the brig!" Shadow protested.

The Delaney sisters each patted one of her hands soothingly. "We owe you one. And Delaneys always pay their debts. Don't worry about it, Malista. All *you* have to do," Jenny explained, "is smile."

"Smile?"

"Yes," the elder twin replied. "Megan and I are going over to talk to Natwick and when he looks your way, I want you to smile at him."

"Just smile?" she repeated dubiously.

"Your sweetest smile," Megan corrected. "And if he asks you if you're out to get him, you deny it. With a smile. An icky sweet smile. Smile every single time you see him."

"I don't understand." Malista eyed the pair indecisively. "You promise you won't do anything---rash?"

Jenny and Megan batted their violet eyes at their tall friend. "Would we do that?" they chorused.

"Yes!" Shadow exclaimed. "That's why I'm worried about it!"

Megan pouted. "Darn, Jenny! She knows us pretty well."

"Oh, come on, Malista! The best revenge is when you make them do it to themselves. We work best behind the scenes. We can be insidious."

"Like with Freddie Bristow," Megan sighed contentedly.

Malista's green eyes widened. "Freddie Bristow? *You* set him up? Is that why Diane Russell---"

Two enigmatic smiles beamed her way. "Just smile sweetly every time you catch George looking at you. That's all you have to do," Jenny instructed.

With an uncertain frown, Malista nodded and returned to her table.

"What did they want?" Tom demanded as soon as Malista was in earshot.

"To apologize," Shadow answered, reseating herself between Harry and B'Elanna.

"They did that while you were sitting here," he argued.

"Tom," his 'sister' said calmly, looking directly across the table and catching his eyes with a compelling stare.

"What?" he muttered defensively.

"Stop it. I know you got upset with them last night---"

Torres snorted. "That's an understatement!" It had been the first time she'd seen Tom get close to really losing his temper---a cold state of fury. The thought of his transformation from easy-going charmer to icily furious terror still chilled her blood.

Paris grimaced at her before returning his attention to his 'little sister'. "I don't like the way---"

"They're my friends, Tom." Malista seemed to feel that settled the matter. She held his eyes with her own until he gave in with a sigh.

Harry said nothing, but shifted uneasily in his seat. He wasn't terribly comfortable with the idea of Malista associating with the Delaneys either. The twins had actively encouraged her to date other men, causing Harry to suffer agonies of jealousy. And they had persuaded Malista to wear skimpy outfits! Not that Harry minded when they were worn for his viewing alone, but.....

Paris opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed it again. "Okay. But don't expect me to like it when someone hurts you," he said finally. His eyes drifted toward Harry Kim purposefully. "When *anyone* hurts you."

The ensign met his best friend's eyes squarely. "I don't plan on hurting her again, Tom. Or letting anyone else hurt her either."

B'Elanna Torres clicked her tongue. "Both of you are getting carried away with this topic of conversation. Malista is a big girl. She can take care of herself."

"That's right. I can. From now on, I intend to handle my own problems. So now, can we *please* change the subject?" Malista pleaded, shooting a distressed glance from one man to the other.

"Okay," Paris said with a teasing smile. "As soon as you tell me what the Delaneys really wanted!" There was a hint of implacability in his eyes that made Malista wonder how anyone could fail to see the steel core of determination behind the surface patina of cordial charm.

Malista lifted her chin defiantly. "They're going to help me get even with George Natwick."

Harry and Tom traded glances. "I thought we settled this last night---" Kim began.

"Good," B'Elanna stated firmly. "Natwick's an even bigger pig than you used to be, Paris!" She smiled to take the sting out of the remark.

Tom gave up and shrugged. He didn't particularly like Natwick himself. He didn't feel any urge to warn or defend him. "Well, if anyone can take him down a peg, it's the Delaney twins. They make a fine art of it. Trust me, Harry, you NEVER want to get either one of them mad at you, much less both of them."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Tom frowned him down. Protecting George Natwick wasn't worth risking upsetting Malista and B'Elanna. The Delaneys wouldn't do any permanent damage---except maybe to Natwick's ego. Besides, they could manage to keep themselves out of the brig while exacting their revenge. Probably. Most likely. Well, maybe. If Jenny didn't get carried away. This time.

Shadow glanced toward Natwick's table. Jenny and Megan were seated there on either side of him, talking away earnestly. He looked across the room at her. Malista obediently smiled as sweetly as she knew how---until a frowning Harry Kim slid his arm around her waist and turned her to face him. "What are you doing?"

"Following directions," she said innocently. "Jenny said all I had to do was smile at George. So I did."

"I'd rather you kept your smiles for me," Kim grumbled unhappily, only half joking.

"You're the reason I *can* smile," she whispered, her green eyes studying his face as if to memorize each feature.

Harry started to lean in for a kiss, but stopped when Tom cleared his throat. "We need to talk about these Public Displays of Affection, Mr. Kim. PDA's are non-regulation," he complained with brotherly disapproval. "And that's my sister you're mauling."

"Mauling?" Malista exclaimed. She made a face at Tom. "Don't exaggerate. And mind your own business."

"You're a fine one to talk, Mr. Paris!" Kim retorted, his eyes going to Tom's arm which was around B'Elanna's waist, his hand absent-mindedly caressing the curve of her hip.

"I think you're both in need of help," Torres commented, catching Tom's hand with her own and placing it on the table. "Mental help."

Malista gazed idly around the holodeck. Commander Chakotay entered Sandrine's and crossed her line of sight as he went to the bar to get a drink.

"Oberon," Malista Shadow announced with a satisfied smile, directing the remark to Paris with the waggle of one eyebrow.

"Oberon?" Harry Kim said disconcertedly. His inquiring look at B'Elanna Torres showed she was just as perplexed.

Tom Paris, on the other hand, was frowning. He followed Malista's look and ran a skeptical eye over the first officer. "Oberon? Naw, I don't see it. He's three feet too tall, for one thing."

"I'm not talking about a physical resemblance, although," Malista paused, "maybe the part about the angelic face is on target."

Tom rolled his eyes dramatically. "I think you've got angels on the brain, Sis. You're seeing them everywhere. First me, then Harry---now Chakotay?" he added dubiously. "Angelic? With a *tattoo*?" He exaggeratedly shuddered his distaste for the idea.

"What are you two talking about?" Torres demanded.

"Sorry, B'Elanna. It's just a game Tom and I were playing when we first met. We were trying to match each crewmember up with a literary figure. We didn't make it through the whole list yet," Shadow explained.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I'm Gawaine." He squeezed Malista's hand.

Torres tilted her head to one side curiously. "I take it that's a compliment? Who's Gawaine?"

"King Arthur's nephew and a Knight of the Round Table," Harry replied. He'd had to do a database search to refresh his memory, but he didn't plan to admit to that.

"And who am I?" the half-Klingon inquired pointedly.

As he recalled the answer to her question, Tom's eyes widened and he stared at Malista, stalling for time. "Sis? Did we think of one for B'Ella?" He shook his head subtly.

"Actually, you thought of two," she remarked with mock innocence, batting her long black eyelashes at him.

Tom narrowed his eyes at her lack of cooperation. "Oh, yeah? I don't remember---and you'd better not either!"

She lifted her chin at him mutinously. "Why not?"

"Because if you do---I'll tell Harry---the *truth* !" he threatened in an ominous whisper.

Harry and B'Elanna exchanged patient looks. They had no idea what Tom was talking about---but that had never stopped him before, or even slowed him down that they'd noticed.

Malista tried to look properly horrified. "The truth? Oh, Tom, you wouldn't?!"

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Tom chuckled evilly, rubbing his hands together, and twirling an imaginary mustache. "Harry, you wouldn't believe the names this woman was calling you---just yesterday!"

Malista's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she fought a grin. "You are such a liar!" she accused. "Don't listen to him, Harry! He's the one who was calling you names!"

Tom looked indignant. "I did not! She was so mad at you she even started going through the alphabet! A for Aldebaran Serpent---OW!" He jumped as Torres elbowed his ribs---again. "B'Elanna! Ribs are bones! Bones crack and break, you know?" he whined.

"Big baby," she sniffed. "Stop changing the subject and answer the question. Who did you come up with for me? Or should I ask?" The last question was directed at Shadow. "The Dragon Lady of K'ruth BoTaz?"

"Didn't think of that one." Tom pretended to be considering the legendary witch-like character of Klingon folklore.

Malista smiled gently. "Well, when he was mad at you---"

"Malista!" Tom protested. He reflexively snapped his arms down to protect his ribs and flinched away as Torres turned a threatening scowl towards him.

"I guess that one didn't count," Shadow concluded, sharing a smile with Harry as she relented. "We finally decided that since Tom is Harlequin, you must be Columbine."

"Who?" Torres attention shot back to Malista.

"On Earth, in the theater, there are certain traditional characters. Harlequin was a comedic character that wore multi-colored tights---lots of bright colors. Columbine was the dancer that was Harlequin's sweetheart," Malista explained. "And you move very gracefully---like a dancer."

B'Elanna nodded, unsure how to respond. She didn't deal with compliments well, but Tom had persuaded her that it was rude to argue when she was given one. She seemed to be considering the idea. After a moment, she said, "Okay. I'll accept that for now. Tom is a clown. That sounds about right." A hint of mischief danced in her brown eyes. "I'm a dancer. Harry is a knight in shining armor. What about you, Malista?"

"Hey, that's right, Sis!" Paris exclaimed. "We never got one for you!"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I was Madame DeFarge." She made knitting motions with her hands. "Guillotine!" she cackled, sounding like an old crone.

Tom sent her a disapproving frown. "That was a joke. Hmm. I'll have to give this one some thought. What do you think, Harry? What literary figure does Malista remind you of?"

"Aphrodite?" he offered, covering Malista's hand with his own as he gazed at her face with a gentle smile. "She's Greek---and beautiful," Harry elaborated.

She could feel herself blushing furiously. "Harry!"

Kim appreciated her modesty, especially since Malista snuggled up against him to hide her burning face in his neck. She was making a habit of that. One that he actively approved of. He kissed her cheek since it was within reach. He loved those high cheekbones.

"Naw," Tom drawled disparagingly. "Malista's got arms."

Harry and B'Elanna traded puzzled frowns. Shadow sat up and grimaced at him, sighing with exasperation. "Tom, that's Venus---the Venus de Milo," she elaborated to Harry, who nodded. Given that hint, he recognized the reference.

"Everyone knows that Venus and Aphrodite are the same person," Paris objected.

"Oh, come on! You couldn't tell that to the Romans and Greeks! Forget that. I don't want to argue," Malista demurred, eager to turn the conversation away from herself. "But just think about this one---if Chakotay is Oberon---does that mean Captain Janeway is Titania?" she inquired just a trace too innocently and bit her lip to contain her smile.

Tom, who had just sipped his syntheholic beer, choked and spluttered into his mug. He rapidly set the drink down and coughed to clear his throat. B'Elanna 'helpfully' slapped him between the shoulders, almost laying him out across the table in the process. He shot a reproachful look her way.

"What's so funny?" Shadow asked artlessly. "It seems reasonable to me."

"I was just thinking," Tom panted, "of Midsummer Night's Dream. If Janeway is Titania---How about Neelix as---"

"Bottom," Shadow supplied in unison with Tom, then dissolved in giggles. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and hiding her face in her hands as she tried to regain control---and get that image out of her mind.

Harry placed a hand on her back and patted it gently. He missed the allusion, but beamed a smile at her. It was a relief to be with her and to see her happy again.

"He already has the mane," Tom spluttered, holding his ribs as he wheezed.

"Oh!" gasped Malista. "Don't tell Neelix! You'd hurt his feelings!"

"And with those ears---Tuvok as Robin Goodfellow!" They met each other's eyes and shook with laughter again.

Torres was shaking her head. Paris could get so silly sometimes---and now he had a partner in silliness. She didn't know what the two of them were going on about, but she was glad Tom was having fun. The last two weeks had been stressful for all four of them and strained their friendship with Harry almost to the breaking point.

Harry and B'Elanna waited patiently until the other two recaptured their control. It took a few minutes. But they now had an inkling of how Tom had felt when the two of them had frequently gone off on conversational tangents about engineering problems---leaving Tom to sit on the sidelines until he could rejoin the discussion when it returned to less esoteric subjects.

Malista finally straightened, wiping tears from her cheeks with her index fingers. "Well," she said, "at least Titania is better than your *first* suggestion for Captain Janeway."

"What did he say?" Harry asked curiously.

"Medusa!" Malista announced scathingly.

"Now that's an interesting comparison, Mr. Paris," said Kathryn Janeway dryly. She had approached unnoticed and was standing two feet behind Harry and Malista, hands on her hips. "Would you like to explain the similarity?"

Tom Paris could have kept it under control---maybe---if not for the look of absolute horror on Malista's face. Shadow didn't know the captain well and didn't recognize the teasing note in her voice. She was afraid she'd just gotten herself and her 'big brother' into deep, deep---trouble.

Malista threw a frantic, contrite look at Tom, her mind racing as she tried to frame an acceptable apology. The pilot burst into helpless laughter, waving a hand at Janeway to indicate she should join them.

Janeway walked around the table to stand next to Paris, shaking her head as she raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. Kim jumped to his feet with alacrity and pulled an empty chair over for her. She seated herself between Paris and Kim and waited politely for Tom to be able to speak again.

Torres grinned. She could tell the captain was in a playful mood and ready to twist the knife. She and Tom were well-matched in wit and humor and it was always amusing to watch them square off.

When Harry reseated himself, he gave his attention to reassuring Malista with a smile that the captain wasn't really upset.

"Medusa?" the captain inquired softly and deliberately.

Tom sobered. "It was meant as a compliment, Captain," he said earnestly. His most ingratiating smile---had no effect.

"Oh, I'm sure it was." Her expression was totally deadpan. She nodded slowly, one hand reaching up to her red brown tresses. "I never thought my hair was particularly snake-like, Mr. Paris. Or was the reference to other aspects of my physical appearance?"

"No, ma'am!" Tom snapped formally. "The reference had to do with---The Look---Captain Janeway, ma'am!" He was suddenly a caricature of the model junior officer addressing his captain. The only thing Tom didn't do was stand to attention.

"The Look?" she repeated, imitating his emphasis. "Elaborate, Lieutenant." She raised one eloquent eyebrow. This was bound to be good. Tom's blue eyes were sparkling.

"Captain," Malista began hesitantly, but stopped when Harry squeezed her hand and Janeway shook her head slightly.

"He got himself into this, Crewman Shadow, let him dig his own way out," the captain advised kindly.

Torres made digging motions behind Tom's back, indicating the hole was getting deeper. Kim grinned. Shadow tried to hide her anxiety. She was still somewhat in awe of the captain. She had only spoken to her once before in an off duty situation. Now she had insulted her to her face!

Paris ostentatiously ignored the other three, all his attention centered on the captain. He gave her his most sincerely, honest expression. He overdid it perfectly, with the ease of long practice. "Captain, as you well know, The Look is a skill taught in Starfleet Command Training to ensure instant obedience to every order. Or another way to describe it---"

He almost lost his composure again as his sense of humor tried to escape, but he choked it into submission, and continued in 'lecture' mode. "The Look, when properly given---in the excellent and exemplary manner in which *you* perform it---is capable of freezing a man in his tracks---and causing his blood to run backwards in his veins! That is what brought the Medusa reference to mind, Captain Janeway, ma'am!"

Janeway mouth twitched as she fought off a smile. "The Look---as you call it---doesn't seem to have a noticeable effect on you, Lieutenant," she said speculatively.

Paris nodded sagely. "Well, Captain, you could say I have built up a certain tolerance for The Look---an immunity---due to my family background. With all those Admirals and Captains running loose at family reunions...."

"Running loose? That sounds disrespectful to me, Lieutenant," Janeway commented.

"Sorry, Captain." The scapegrace grin was back. "The Medusa thing---it's part of a game."

"Would someone like to explain the rules of the game to me?" she asked.

"We're identifying the crew with literary figures," Tom explained.

"So I'm---Medusa?" Kathryn mused.

"Actually, Captain, we'd just decided you were Titania," Torres interjected. "Whoever that is. And Neelix is Bottom." She was pleased, but amazed when Janeway laughed. Evidently the captain caught the reference. Torres decided she needed to spend less time reading technical manuals and more time on literature.

"We thought of it because Malista proposed Chakotay as Oberon," Harry explained.

"Really?" Janeway asked, seeming intrigued by the notion. She sat forward and gazed at Shadow curiously. "What made you think of that?"

Malista kept her gaze fixed on the table. "I-I was thinking of---he---Oberon was supposed to have the gift of insight---into men's thoughts. As a counselor, he sort of shows that he does and he---"

"Has an 'angelic' face," Torres finished, with a smirk. All five of them ostentatiously turned to stare with exaggerated interest at the Commander who was standing at the bar conversing with Tuvok.

Chakotay noticed. He resisted the spontaneous urge to check the condition of his uniform, and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head inquiringly.

The captain waved a dismissive hand, so the first officer turned his attention back to his conversation with the Vulcan. He made a mental note to ask her later what was going on and why he was suddenly the object of attention.

"Angelic?" Janeway murmured. "That isn't the word that I would have used to describe him."

"Really?" Tom said impudently. "What word---would you use, Captain?"

"Actually, I used the word bear-like." She speared him with her gray eyes.

Unfazed, Tom quirked an amused eyebrow at her. "As in grizzly---or as in teddy?"

She sent a quelling glance in his direction and promptly changed the subject. "Who else have we decided on? And who's left? Are you writing these down?"

When the captain played a game, she entered into it wholeheartedly. The others enjoyed her joining in and none of them noticed how subdued Malista Shadow had become. She was experienced at fading into the background. All it took was smiling, nodding, and murmuring agreement often enough to keep others from noticing she wasn't really participating. Saying nothing was often the easiest way to avoid saying the wrong thing.

*****************

After a morning of working on the aft sensor arrays, Lt. Susan Nicoletti accompanied Crewman Malista Shadow to the Security Office during their lunch break. Malista had asked Ensign George Natwick for workout programs for practicing her self-defense training. She'd hesitated to pick them up as promised because she felt awkward about facing him again alone.

Nicoletti, her occasional partner in working Maintenance, had volunteered to go with her. She didn't trust George Natwick as far as she could throw the warp core and she wanted to be sure he wouldn't try anything. There were several good reasons why Nicoletti was occasionally referred to as Mama Bear, though never to her face.

Natwick looked up from his terminal as they walked in and stood before his desk. His eyes made a quick inspection of Shadow and her attitude.

Malista remembered Jenny Delaney's orders and smiled sweetly at him.

His eyes narrowed. "Can I help you?" His voice was totally professional, but his intent was hard to read. He never took his eyes off Malista Shadow and ignored Sue Nicoletti as if she were invisible.

"Yes, Ensign. You told me you had some self-defense workouts that I could borrow for use in the holodeck." Her tone was thoroughly business-like.

He stared at her for a moment. "Oh. Yeah, uh, sure. Let me find them," he faltered. He began to paw through the desk drawer and produced three data crystals. He got to his feet and extended them toward Malista. As he dropped the crystals into her palm, his hand brushed hers and he captured her hand for a moment. "Are you all right?" he said in an undertone, ignoring Nicoletti's frowning surveillance. His brown eyes scanned her face as if trying to see beyond her polite mask of professionalism.

Shadow tugged her hand free. "I'm fine, Ensign Natwick," she replied evenly. "Thank you. Is there anything I need to know about the programs?"

He seemed to shake himself out of a light trance and dropped his eyes to the desk. "The numbers of each program indicate the difficulty level. One is the beginner program. As the numbers increase, so does the difficulty of the simulation---number of opponents, types of weapons---that kind of thing."

Malista felt a wisp of her black hair escaping its anchor and reached up to push it back into place. Natwick's eyes darted to her hand and traced its movement, almost as if he expected her to pull a weapon on him. Shadow darted a glance at Nicoletti.

Sue shrugged. She didn't know why the Security Officer seemed so edgy.

Natwick reseated himself behind the desk, still staring at the women suspiciously. "Let me know if you need help with the programs."

"I will. Thank you." Shadow turned to leave, but halted when he said her name.

"Malista? I'm sorry about---you know."

Her spine stiffened. She cast a look at him over her shoulder, but didn't turn. "What? For hitting Harry?" she asked scathingly.

Natwick scowled. "He had that coming for the way he treated you. No, I meant---" His brown eyes went to Nicoletti again. "I meant I was sorry I said anything to him. I didn't intend to hit him. I was a little off balance emotionally at the time. When I saw him, I just---lost my temper. Something I haven't done in a long time. I didn't really intend to hurt him. I'm sorry. No hard feelings?"

Nicoletti was watching the exchange impassively, but her mind was spinning. If she didn't know better, she would think George Natwick had serious feelings for Malista Shadow---but was also afraid of her for some reason. Or at least concerned about her reaction to his behavior. That was a first. When not on duty, Natwick was known for going his own way, without regard for anyone's feelings or opinions. His was the original lone wolf personality.

Malista, remembering Jenny Delaney's instructions, smiled as sweetly as she could manage. "Of course not, George. Why would there be any hard feelings?" The words were innocently spoken, but coupled with that smile---rang false in Natwick's ears. As they were meant to, though Malista wasn't really aware of that.

As the door slid closed behind Nicoletti and Shadow, the ensign began to analyze the possible plans of attack Malista might use to take her revenge on him. Without trying hard, he'd come up with twenty-five different scenarios before the end of his shift.

*****************

B'Elanna studied her surroundings. "This is it?" she asked sharply.

"Not exactly," Tom replied.

She watched as he lazily leaned forward with an outstretched hand and switched on the---What was it he'd called it? Oh, yes. A radio. Some idiot started crooning stupid questions. 'Are the stars out tonight? I don't know if it's cloudy or bright---'

B'Elanna reached out and snapped the radio off.

"What did you do that for?" Paris complained.

"It was ridiculous. Of course the stars are out. They're always out. If he'd look up, he'd see them---"

The lieutenant slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "B'Elanna, it's a song! Not a science class!" He sighed deeply. "Come on. Lean back. Relax." He dropped his hand on her shoulder and pulled her back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

"And do what?" she asked impatiently. "What kind of program is this?"

Tom fought off another sigh. He'd bet a week's worth of replicator rations that the Doc hadn't had this much trouble with Denara Pel. "It's a leisure program, B'Elanna. You don't have to fight anyone, or scale anything, or chase something around in circles. You just sit here in this wonderful classic 1957 Chevy and look at the stars. And listen to some mellow music. Or enjoy the view of the colony below. Or---cuddle a little. Or a lot. Don't you *ever* just sit still and do absolutely nothing?"

She pulled away from him and stared at him. It was *not* a happy stare.

He decided his words were getting in the way more than they were helping. He tried letting his eyes speak for him. His blue eyes had a way with words. When his mouth didn't interfere. After a moment, she relaxed against him again, turning to rest her back against his muscular chest, her head lying on his shoulder.

"All right, I'll *try* your *leisure* program." She paused. She tilted her head to look up at him, "But it's going to get boring, if this is all there is to it----"

He fastened his lips onto hers. Her objections melted away in the sizzling sensations aroused by his kiss.

Oxygen deprivation forced a brief intermission.

"There is something to be said for relaxing," she purred. "Turn the music back on."

He obeyed.

"Now kiss me, Lieutenant Paris." Her smile was predatory.

"Yes, ma'am!" He obeyed. With enthusiasm.

******************

Every day it seemed to get worse. The comments, the sly digs, the looks---especially the looks. Conversations stopped abruptly or made sudden detours in topic when she came into view. Malista was beginning to dread getting out of bed and reporting for duty. She felt half of the Alpha shift had nothing better to do than to try to pump her for information about her relationships with Harry Kim, Tom Paris, and B'Elanna Torres. Those who weren't curious, were judgmental and wanted her to feel the weight of their disapproval.

She hadn't had to deal with so much attention since---since Huldon III. At that time, she'd been so physically and mentally traumatized that she'd hardly noticed the stares and whispers. And when she had been in a condition to do so, Niko Dishon had been there to run interference. She missed Niko and mourned his death. They hadn't had much in common, but he'd always been there. For five years, he'd protected her, shielded her, and even fought for her---to keep other people away. To keep other people from hurting her.

It seemed that everywhere she went, someone was talking about her. She would walk into a room or out of the turbolift and everyone would stare. She didn't know what to do when that happened, so she tried to pretend she didn't see them, didn't hear them. She didn't answer their greetings, didn't speak to anyone. She stopped wearing makeup on duty and screwed her shoulder-length hair into an unflattering bun on the nape of her neck, trying to make herself as unattractive as possible, hoping to avoid attention.

It didn't work. She didn't need makeup to draw attention to her good features. With her hair pulled back, her classical bone structure and wonderful pale gold skin were more easily admired. She tried her best to disappear into the crowd and go unnoticed but, for the first time in her life, she couldn't achieve anonymity simply by wishing for it.

*****************

"I can't believe her attitude!" The exclamation came to Tom Paris' ears as he rounded the corner of the corridor on his way to Engineering. The unseen speaker was working in the Jefferies tube that he was passing.

"Since when does being with the Senior staff give you the right to put on airs? She won't even speak to us common people any more. Who does she think she is? Some kind of princess?" The complainer went on, encouraged by a mumble from her companion. "Well, I can tell you I'm not going to speak to her either. She thinks she's fooling anyone? She's sleeping her way to the top. Everyone knows that."

Tom directed a scornful glance at the hatch as he passed by. He detested gossips. If he'd thought it would do any good, he would confront them. But he'd learned from bitter experience that a confrontation just gave them more ammunition to lob---and sometimes a new target. He wondered idly who they could be talking about.

Senior staff? The only women on the Senior staff were Captain Janeway, B'Elanna Torres, and Kes. It couldn't be Janeway. She was the top of the chain of command---no reason to 'sleep her way to the top'. Kes? Some people didn't like her because they found her telepathic abilities frightening, but---no, he didn't think it could be her. B'Elanna? Most people gossiped about her temper, not her private life. And anyway, her relationship with him wouldn't help her gain a promotion. It didn't add up.

Paris shrugged. Some people could find insult in any behavior. Maybe B'Elanna or Kes had ticked someone off. A little gossip wouldn't do any harm. He decided to ignore it.

If he'd lingered a little longer, he would have solved the mystery of the identity of the object of discussion. The second person in the access crawl way finally gave his opinion. "I think she's intimidating. She towers over me and the way she looks at me with those cold green eyes---I've seen warmer expressions on statues!"

His partner laughed as they went back to work. "Well, if Harry Kim wants to cuddle up to an overgrown marble sculpture---it's his loss. Now if he wants a real woman---"

"You'd volunteer for that duty? I knew you were interested in him for yourself."

**************************

Torres was nowhere in sight when Tom Paris entered Engineering. He caught the eye of the nearest engineer and asked for her. Susan Nicoletti pointed up to the second level. Paris thanked her and started for the lift. A sudden flurry of loud Klingon epithets drifted downward from above---not falling gently on anyone's ears. Tom's eyebrows rose and he hurried to the lift. Now he knew why everyone else in the department had found work to do on the lower level.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the open access panel in the bulkhead. When he got closer to the source, he could identify the epithets as being directed at a recalcitrant lubricant container that was oozing slimy liquid all over the chief engineer's hands. It was quite evident from the appearance of the container that ---probably in a fit of pique---she had squeezed it much too tightly, forgetting the strength her Klingon heritage afforded her. The seams had burst.

Hearing his footsteps, she turned a glare in his direction. "Don't-you-dare-laugh!" she rapped out vehemently. She felt self-conscious, inept, and embarrassed to have him or anyone else see her make such a silly, clumsy mistake. She was just glad that no one else was working in the area.

Widening his eyes as much as possible, Paris shook his head silently. He saw a cleansing towel resting on a table nearby and handed it to her without comment. He deftly scooped up the container and placed it in a small trash receptacle---without getting a speck of lubricant on himself, of course.

Torres thought it was resoundingly unfair that Tom Paris always looked so perfectly groomed and elegant. And even when he didn't, he always looked good. At times, she felt like a disheveled mess standing next to him. Slightly mollified by the lack of teasing, she wiped her hands clean.

When she finished, he extended a hand towards her. Eyes slightly narrowed, she placed her small hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Well?" She was certain he wouldn't be able to resist a comment. She was braced for it.

He crooked a long, slender finger at her.

She frowned and took a step closer. "What? Have you lost your voice? The ship couldn't get that lucky."

His brow wrinkled in a distressed expression. At times he looked about four years old. This was one of those times. His blue eyes looked---piteous.

"Tom, what's the matter?" She was beginning to be concerned.

His eyes darted around to be sure they were alone. He crooked his finger at her again. She took another step closer and stretched on tiptoe to incline her ear to catch his whisper, "I think I hurt myself."

She stared at him, brown eyes rounding. "What? How?"

He leaned closer and whispered even more quietly, "You told me not to laugh. I think I hurt myself trying not to." He put a small whimper in his words.

For a split millisecond---she bought it. Then his meaning sank in. He began to chuckle at the expression on her face as she stepped back and clenched her fists. She could feel herself flushing as her temper swiftly soared. "You---!" She couldn't think of an epithet strong enough. She took a swing at him.

Tom was no fool. He was ready for her reaction. He ducked back---just enough so that her fist missed his jaw by a centimeter. "Now, Torres, watch your temper!" he said soothingly.

She advanced on him, still glaring. He stopped retreating---for good reason. His back was to the wall. Torres couldn't believe he was still grinning---Smile Number Seven---the goofy grin that said his sense of humor had been unexpectedly tickled.

She was almost nose to nose with him. He still hadn't lost that grin. She was trying to hold onto her annoyance, but that grin and those admiring blue eyes were getting to her. "What are you smirking at, Helmboy?" she snarled.

"You. You look cute when you're dirty, B'Elanna," he said simply. There was no retreat, no hiding in his expression. He reached out a tentative hand to wipe a small splotch of lubricant from her cheek.

"Klingons do NOT look *cute*," Torres stated emphatically, trying not to let him see how thoroughly the compliment disarmed her. Or the effect his slightest touch had on her equilibrium.

He shook his head slightly. "Maybe Klingons don't---but you do." He suddenly looked thoughtful. "Remind me to introduce you to my mud pie program. It could be fun. Childish, but fun. And you'd look---cute." Now Smile Number Five took over---the wicked smile that invited you to follow him right into mischief.

"Cute?" she repeated.

His eyes surveyed the room once more. They were out of sight, if not out of hearing of the others in Engineering. He leaned forward and brushed a teasingly light kiss across her lips. "Definitely cute."

"I'm not playing in any mud, Paris!"

"Too bad. Wiggling your bare toes in the mud is a lot of fun." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "And cleaning up afterwards---"

"Did you come up here to make me lose my temper? Or was there a reason that you came to Engineering?" She felt better. It was nice to know she couldn't intimidate Tom or scare him away with her flash of temperament. It made her feel more secure in their---friendship.

"Actually, I wanted to help you check the navigational deflector. It's begun giving false readings or producing some kind of echo effect....."

They settled down to work.

**************************

Chakotay checked his chronometer again. She was definitely late. This was a first. Since he'd begun counseling sessions with Malista Shadow, she'd always been prompt. He slapped at his commbadge. "Commander Chakotay to Crewman Shadow."

There was a pause--just a bit longer than usual---then the reply. "Shadow here."

"Crewman, did you forget your appointment with me?" the first officer asked patiently.

"No, sir," she replied rapidly. "I'm on my way. I'm---running a little behind schedule. Sorry."

"Chakotay out." He frowned thoughtfully as he seated himself at his desk.

It had been almost a week since Malista had met with him. He hoped she would be more forthcoming this time. He'd had the feeling at their last session that she wasn't being totally honest with him.

They seemed to have hit a roadblock of some kind in her counseling sessions. He couldn't help her if she wouldn't cooperate. He busied himself with a personnel report as he waited for her arrival.

About twenty minutes later, more than thirty minutes late for her appointment, Malista Shadow entered Chakotay's office. She was in uniform and still carrying her toolkit.

Chakotay glanced up and studied her appearance. There were signs that the young woman was tired---the faintest hint of purplish semicircles under her eyes, her hair escaping from the loose ponytail lying on her back. She was good at hiding her feelings. If he hadn't known her for years, he would have missed the signs himself. She also seemed on edge as she made her way to the seat across from him.

"Malista," he said by way of greeting. He waited. Patience was a definite virtue for a counselor.

She attempted a smile, but it wasn't convincing. "Commander, I apologize. I got busy repairing a---" She hesitated. Frowning, she went on, "I'm sorry. My mind just went blank---oh, a computer relay in the ship's library. Russell's had several problems with the consoles. We're trying to adapt to some of the new replacement parts we got on Dynos Six. I seem to have been spending a lot of my shift there lately. I, uh, lost track of time."

Chakotay nodded silently. He waited.

His silence increased her nervousness. "Was there something in particular that you wanted to talk to me about today, Commander?" She forced herself to sit back in the chair, striving to appear relaxed and at ease.

The first officer's silence stretched on. He watched as she began to drum her fingers on the arm of the chair---only to stop abruptly when she noticed what she was doing. She flashed a look at him as if caught in an indiscretion, then caught her lower lip between her teeth and began to gnaw on it. "Chakotay?" The word was almost a plea.

Finally. She was ready to drop the facade. "Malista, what's going on?"

She slumped forward, resting her hands on the edge of the desk. "Oh, Chakotay," she sighed wearily. She raised her eyes to meet his. Tears began to gather, but she blinked rapidly to hold them at bay.

"Is it Harry?" The first officer deliberately chose the least likely problem. He wanted to get her started talking, hoping that once started she would continue.

She shook her head, chewing her lower lip once more. She took a deep breath. "Harry is---the best thing that ever happened to me. He's just so---" Words seemed to fail her.

"So he's not the reason you look worn out? The reason you were late today? The reason you look so miserable?" the first officer prodded.

"No. It's just that when---since Harry and I made up," she said unhappily, "a lot of people have been---commenting. They're talking about us----about me."

"And what are they saying?"

"Gossip. I don't know. I don't want to know!" she wailed. "Half the time they stop talking when I get close enough to hear them."

"Then how do you know they're talking about you?"

She tossed him an exasperated frown and jumped to her feet, beginning to move restlessly around the room. "The way they look at me. Everywhere I go---they stare. They don't talk to me. They just---watch me. Like I should be on a slide under a microscope! And the ones who do talk to me---talk AT me!"

"How many people are we talking about? The whole crew?"

"What? What does that matter?" She was puzzled and angry at the same time.

"I'm trying to get an idea of the extent of the problem," he explained softly.

"You think I'm lying?" she accused.

He shook his head. "I didn't say that. Until recently, you've kept yourself fairly isolated. Now that you're begun interacting socially with the crew, you should expect to feel a certain lack of privacy. I think you might be exaggerating..."

"I am not! Chakotay, you don't know---the things they say---"

"Why do you listen?" he asked reasonably. "Do you value their opinions?"

She stopped in her tracks and pivoted slowly to face him. She leaned her fists on his desk and leaned down to push her face within six inches of his. "No. I just want to be left alone. I want everybody to leave me alone! I want everybody to mind his or her own business. What do you expect me to do? You and Captain Janeway ordered me to socialize! So I socialized! Now I'm tired of it!"

Chakotay raised his eyebrows, and still in his quiet voice, replied, "You're going to be on this ship for a very long time, Malista. Part of being a member of the Voyager family is taking the bad along with the good. It's a small community---so we take care of each other. But because it's a small community, we also know each other's business. And sometimes that can cause some pain and a lack of privacy. Most of these people are well-meaning. Give it time. The furor will die down. They'll find something else to talk about."

She straightened and moved away from him to the center of the room. Her eyes closed as she tried to gather her thoughts. "Okay. Fine. So I'll get used to it. Is that what you're telling me?" She came back to her chair and sank into it, elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands.

"In a way. You need to develop a thicker skin. Maturity comes when you realize you can't please everyone. You have to pick and choose those you want to please and you should start with yourself." He didn't think she was listening so he tried a different tack. "Do you have too much time on your hands?"

Her head jerked up at that. He could have sworn he detected a twinge of apprehension. "What do you mean?"

He folded his arms and watched her silently for a moment. She began to fidget. "I simply meant that you had been working two shifts for some time. Now that you're working only one---" His dark eyes zeroed in on her. "I thought you might have more free time than you want."

"Why? What do you think I should be doing with my extra time?"

"Giving Neelix cooking lessons?" She grinned at that. Chakotay raised his hands, palms up. "I thought you might like to take another class. Maybe do some cross-training. Have you thought about that?"

She sank back in the chair and eyed the ceiling for a moment. "I wondered about maybe---do you think the doctor would train me as a field medic?"

Chakotay nodded. "I think that can be arranged. May I ask why?"

"Sometimes Sickbay gets really busy. And if Tom can't be spared from the bridge, it's just Kes and the Doctor---and if the computer went down----" She made a gesture with her hand. "I just thought I could be useful. My father said I wasn't smart enough for medical school, but maybe I could at least learn first aid. Or I'm big for a woman and I'm strong. I could help the injured get to Sickbay."

The first officer was perturbed to read between the lines and see the lack of self-esteem underlying her low expectations of herself. "I'll talk to the doctor about arranging your lessons. Malista, is something else bothering you? Something other than curiosity and gossip?" He was picking up on something he couldn't identify---a source of uneasiness in her that set off a small sensor alert in his mind.

She folded her arms across her chest, a defensive gesture she seemed to have picked up from Tom Paris. "What makes you ask?"

"Malista, you're supposed to be telling me what's bothering you," the first officer chided gently. "That's the purpose of these counseling sessions."

"You told me I needed to learn to handle my own problems," she reminded him. "That's what I'm trying to do. You told me I needed to become independent and self-sufficient---not depend on someone else to rescue me or protect me all the time. Are *you* trying to take Niko's place now?"

"Malista---" Chakotay broke off, pausing to rethink his words. He hated having them quoted back at him out of context. "There's a difference in becoming too dependent on others and being too independent to ask for help when you need it. Everyone needs help occasionally. I just meant you shouldn't make a habit of it."

She was gnawing on her lower lip again, a sure sign of anxiety or distress. She nodded.

"Do you have a problem you need help with?" he asked after giving her a moment to think it over.

She shook her head. "No. Not now. I'm not sure. Maybe." She almost smiled. "Great. I'm back to comprehensive answers." She ignored his questioning look at that comment. "Chakotay, let me think about it. Maybe I'm blowing the whole thing out of proportion. If I find I need help---I'll let you know."

Chakotay wasn't satisfied. He could tell there was something serious bothering her, but evidently she wasn't ready to discuss it. "All right, Malista. See you next week? Same time?"

A glint of mischief peeked out of her green eyes. "No. Next week, I'll be on time. I swear."

He smiled.

*********************

Diane Russell, ship's librarian, put down her mug and glanced from one man to the other. "I don't understand why you're so worried about Malista Shadow. She and Harry are back together again. Isn't everything right with her world again?"

"She was crying last night when she left his quarters," Gerron stated flatly. "That's the third time this week."

Dalby scowled at the young man. "Yeah? You're sure, Tem?"

"Of course, I'm sure. I passed her on my way back from the Holodeck," the young Maquis said with a trace of exasperation. "Her eyes and nose were red. I know what a woman who's been crying looks like."

Dalby's eyes narrowed. "She's a nice kid. If he's just using her---"

Diane took his hand in hers and shook it a little to focus his attention on her. "Aron, I've seen her with him at Sandrine's. She always looks fine. She seems happy to me."

The older Maquis' eyes softened as they rested on the woman he loved. "Diane, you weren't one of us. You don't know Malista Shadow very well. She's very good at pretending everything is all right. She hides herself, but she's vulnerable. I don't want anyone taking advantage of her---not even a Starfleet officer!"

Gerron nodded. "I might be the youngest Maquis chronologically---but Malista is definitely the youngest in---other ways," he mumbled. "She may act like she's happy when she's with him, but you just take a look at her when she's on duty. She doesn't hum or sing any more. She always did that when she was working. She freezes up. She looks---grim. Whenever *he* isn't around to keep her in line."

"I don't know why you're so sure that he's the problem. It could be something or someone else. Harry Kim has always seemed like a nice man to me," Russell protested weakly. She'd occasionally helped him with research, but she didn't know the Operations Officer well. She didn't feel as if she could speak in his defense with any authority. It was hard to know what some men were capable of---behind closed doors. The image of Lon Suder crossed her mind and she shivered.

Aron Dalby, concerned, leaned forward and put his arm around her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Diane smiled up at him. Others had told her that Aron was a hotheaded, ill-tempered, uncontrollable troublemaker and that it was a mistake to get involved with him. She had given him a chance and found that those advice-givers didn't know the real Aron Dalby. Maybe he could be all those things, but he could also be sweet and protective---with her. Another example of how public and private persona didn't always match up in the eyes of the beholders.

"I'm fine," she murmured. "I was just thinking---no one knew what Lon Suder was capable of---until he murdered Frank Darwin. Maybe Harry does have a darker side---that no one knows about."

"What can we do about it?" Gerron asked.

Dalby looked at his young friend. "Nothing. Now. But if and when Malista asks for help----"

"Why wait?" the young Bajoran demanded. He'd dated Malista one evening as a favor to Megan Delaney. He'd even kissed Malista goodnight. A platonic kiss. There was no chemistry between them. They'd had a good time, though she really wasn't his type. Megan was his type, if she'd ever notice...

"Because right now she'd defend him---no matter how he's treating her when they're alone together," Dalby explained. "If she's pretending nothing's wrong, she's trying to protect him---or she's accepting his treatment of her." His tone sharpened. "Did you see any bruises?"

"Aron!" Diane protested. "I think you're both jumping to conclusions. There are several explanations for why she'd be crying---"

"Name one," Dalby challenged.

"She could be crying about losing Niko Dishon. He was her best friend for years and some people grieve for a long time. Or she could be upset because she's homesick---or all those stupid rumors about her having an affair with Tom Paris." Diane's face pinkened as she added the final excuse.

"You have a crush on him, don't you?" Dalby said, drawing his arm away.

"Harry?" Diane asked, feigning innocence.

"Tom Paris!"

Diane dimpled as she gently insinuated her arms around his waist, ignoring his slight resistance. "I did. Past tense. Tom's a very attractive man. But he was never more than friendly---with me. I got over my crush on him---the day you asked me out."

"Really?" the Maquis said skeptically, hoping to be convinced.

"Uh-huh." She frowned as she rested her cheek on his shoulder and gazed up at him thoughtfully. "Tom Paris? The name sounds sort of familiar. Remind me? What does he look like? The only face I can remember is yours."

Dalby growled at her under his breath, a promise to be kept later in a less public locale. She did not tremble with fear.

Gerron Tem sighed, feeling a little lonely. He liked Malista Shadow. And she was Megan Delaney's friend, as well as a fellow Maquis. He planned to keep an eye on Shadow---and on Harry Kim---just in case.

****************************

Harry Kim got into the turbolift and found Tom Paris there, already on his way back to the bridge after his lunch break.

Paris noticed Kim's irritated glance at him. "What? What are you looking at?"

"It's all your fault, you know," Kim said sourly.

"What?" The lieutenant crossed his arms with exaggerated patience, waiting for his friend's accusation. "What did I do now?"

"You suggested a reading list for Malista," the ensign complained. "All your favorites you said. And she wants to read every one of them because you suggested it. Heaven forbid she skip a single one of your recommendations!"

"She wanted to catch up on what she's missed. Her colony didn't have an extensive library. So what?"

"So now she keeps reading these wonderful works of literature that *you* suggested---and crying her eyes out! To Kill a Mockingbird? Tom, it's a tearjerker!" Harry scowled at him. "It took me twenty minutes to calm her down when she got to the part where---"

"Hey, she wants to read great literature! A lot of it is depressing!" Tom explained. "Those people lived in depressing times. The only non-depressing stuff is children's literature and she's already read Carroll, Milne, and C.S. Lewis."

"Tom."

"Harry. Okay, you want a little relief? I'll tell her to switch the order on the list. Let's see," he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as he searched his memory. "I'll tell her to read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer---no, that's got a funeral scene and Muff Potter on trial. How about Ivanhoe--? No. I've got it---Little Women---no, wait. Beth dies. Harry, there aren't any good stories without tragedy!" Paris grumbled. "Unless you want her to read Vulcan literature. I'm sure Tuvok----"

"No, thanks," Kim said hastily.

Paris smiled smugly as the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge.

*************************

The Maquis had joined the Starfleet crew, but there was still a sense of camaraderie from shared experiences that bonded them. Word quickly spread among them that Malista was struggling somehow. Though she knew them and they knew her from serving with them on the smaller ship, she couldn't really say many of the Maquis were actually friends. But she was one of them---so they silently closed ranks behind her.

Her fellow Maquis were accustomed to her silence and lack of social skills, so she began to use some of them as shields. She didn't want to walk the corridors alone. Someone might speak to her, and she wouldn't know what to answer. Without a deliberate plan or a word being spoken about the reasons why, she found herself sitting with them in the messhall during her lunch break.

Or one of the Maquis was suddenly going the same direction whenever she went from one place to another. She was escorted to her destination---and they didn't expect conversation from her or ask embarrassing questions. The Maquis had a tradition of accepting others---no questions asked. It was as if the Maquis had designated themselves her bodyguards and were standing between her and the Starfleet crew.

Sometimes Malista felt like a Kalinthian Beetle---whose shell had been ripped away, leaving the tender tissues exposed to danger. She didn't know how to deal with this. And she had to deal with it alone. If she told Harry or Tom---she didn't want to think about their reactions. And if B'Elanna---no! She had caused quite enough trouble for the three of them. She would have to deal with this herself. She wasn't a child. It was time---and past time---for her to learn to handle her own problems.

It might be easier if she could get a good night's sleep. Lately, that had been impossible. Three or four hours of sleep a night seemed to be all she could manage.

She sighed tiredly and threw all her concentration into her work. There was always something that needed to be done to repair or maintain Voyager.

*********************

The chief engineer was afraid she was losing her memory. She'd been so positive---Torres studied the computer screen with a scowl. She scrolled back through the log of repair requests. She hadn't imagined it. There it was---a request to check the environmental controls in the airponics bay. And the slight malfunction in the Science Lab's spectral analysis unit. And the need for adjustments to the gravity controls of the ecosystem sphere needed for the Biology Department's experiments. All three of the assignments were still listed as unassigned and uncompleted.

Then why had the repair teams she sent out just reported that all three assignments had been executed before they got there?

B'Elanna shook her head. She knew Engineering had been thrown into turmoil with the problem of defective power couplings. She hadn't thought she'd lost her grip on the reins to this extent.

Reaching down, she tapped a few keys and marked those repairs completed. She checked the list and called her repair teams to give them new assignments. One thing was for sure, there was always something that needed to be repaired or maintained on this ship. She'd just have to be more careful about logging them to avoid wasting time.

*********************

Harry had just finished his shift. He couldn't wait to get to Deck Four. He hadn't seen Malista all day. It was strange, but he missed her. He'd seen her less than twenty-four hours ago. He'd walked her home from Sandrine's and spent several long and pleasurable minutes kissing her goodnight just inside the doorway of her cabin before calling it a night. He shook his head. He couldn't believe how quickly he'd adapted to having someone to---to be with. To care for. To love?

The thought occurred to him that with Libby, it had taken him over a year to reach this level of comfort. Like a fond memory, he put Libby from his mind. He'd finally managed to say goodbye to her. He wished her well. But his future was here. On Voyager. With Malista Shadow. He felt a wide smile breaking across his face as he stepped into the turbolift. "Deck four."

It was uncommonly quiet. He became aware of others in the turbolift. No one was talking. That struck Harry as odd. For some reason, he subconsciously had the impression that there had been a conversation in progress when he entered the lift.

Ensign Dharn, a Maquis from the Geology Dept. was staring at him. Frowning and staring at him.

Kim raised his eyebrows. "Something wrong, Dharn?"

"What could be wrong, Kim?" There was a note in the other man's voice that almost seemed surly.

"I don't know or I wouldn't have asked," Harry said shortly. The turbolift arrived at Deck Four. "And right now, I don't care." He stepped out, leaving Dharn and his annoying attitude behind. He'd forgotten about the whole incident before he even reached Malista's cabin.

He hit the door signal, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for her to answer. He heard a faint response. "Come in."

The door slid open and as Harry stepped into her living area, he was hit by the most amazing aroma---his mouth began to water reflexively. "Malista?" he called. "What is that?"

"You're early. I haven't had time to change or put on makeup. Don't look!" She appeared in the doorway to her sleeping area. She was wearing black knee-length shorts and an emerald green tee-shirt that matched her eyes. Her cheeks and chin were lightly dusted with a white powdery substance. Her shoulder-length ebony hair was caught up in an untidy ponytail. She looked about 18 years old.

"You look wonderful. You always do. Something smells good." Kim sniffed the air again.

"I hope you're talking about the moussaka."

"The what?" Harry asked, smiling puzzledly.

"Moussaka," she replied, coming forward to kiss him quickly on the lips.

He caught her chin and framed her face with his hands. "Moussaka?" he repeated. He lightly brushed her cheekbones with his thumbs. "Does that explain the flour on your face?"

"No," Malista smiled impishly. She turned her head from side to side, kissing his palms. "The flour is because of the gingerbread I'm still mixing. We're having that for dessert."

"Gingerbread? For me?" Harry was deeply touched. He'd told Malista that one of his fondest memories of his grandmother had been making gingerbread with her. He pulled Malista closer into a hug. Gingerbread was one comfort food Neelix hadn't attempted---yet. Harry hated to think how Neelix' version of gingerbread would taste.

For a brief moment, she rested her head against his shoulder. She returned his hug, squeezing him tightly, almost desperately. 'As if she doesn't want to let go,' he thought. He drew back and tried to look into her eyes.

She evaded his glance and stepped back. "Come on, you can help me roll out the gingerbread and cut them out."

"Them? Really? We're making gingerbread *men*?" Harry was distracted for a moment. "Oh, wait, weren't we supposed to meet Tom and B'Elanna in the messhall for dinner?"

She peered into a mirror and removed the last traces of flour. "We didn't have firm plans, did we? I made more than enough moussaka. If you like, you can invite them to join us. *If* you're willing to share your gingerbread men with Tom. You know he has a sweet tooth," she teased, meeting his eyes at last. Nothing but amusement and affection showed in hers now.

Harry shook his head at her audacity in teasing him. She was opening up to him---he could only think of the analogy of a rosebud in bloom. She was blossoming, her petals unfolding as she learned to reach out to him, to Tom, to B'Elanna. She had been closed off from everyone for so long.

He set aside the little twinge of disquiet that made him think she wasn't being entirely open with him and hit his commbadge. "Kim to Paris."

"Go ahead." Tom's pleasant tenor came through the commlink.

"Tom, I know we didn't exactly have dinner plans----" Kim began.

"I thought we were meeting at the messhall?" Tom queried, his voice muffled momentarily. It sounded like he was moving around as he was speaking, his voice gaining and losing volume.

"Tom, where are you?"

"In my quarters. Changing clothes. Why?"

Kim exchanged smiling glances with Shadow. "Do you think you and B'Elanna could bear to give up one of Neelix' meals? Malista has been cooking---"

"Sure!" Paris interrupted rapidly. "I wouldn't want to hurt my sister's feelings by turning down her invitation."

"Yeah, sure," Harry agreed. "So you'll bring B'Elanna?"

"Be there in fifteen minutes!"

"Don't you want to know what's on the menu?" Malista called out.

"Just promise me there's no leola root, Sis, and I'll be a happy man!" Tom replied.

"See you in fifteen minutes, Tom!"

"Paris out."

********************

Later that evening, Tom and B'Elanna walked into Sandrine's arm in arm. It had become a common sight. Chakotay waved them over to his table.

Paris stifled a sigh. He liked the first officer. Okay, so he had *grown* to like and respect the first officer, but there were times---especially when he was with B'Elanna---that Paris didn't particularly want to spend time with Chakotay.

Chakotay was alone. Paris seated B'Elanna and went to get their drinks from the bar along with a refill for the commander. As he set the tray on the table and pulled up a chair, Chakotay and B'Elanna were discussing ship's gossip.

"I haven't heard anything," Torres was saying, "but I've been out of the loop with supervising double shifts in Engineering for the last few weeks."

Chakotay turned to Tom. "Have you noticed anything unusual, Tom?"

It still gave the pilot a slight start to hear the first officer call him by his first name. "Not really. I did hear some gossip being exchanged about someone 'sleeping her way to the top'---but then that rumor has been around since the dawn of time."

The commander frowned. "Who were they talking about this time?"

Tom thought for a moment. "Sorry. I can't remember. I just heard it in passing. I think I had the impression they meant Kes or B'Elanna---but I don't know---hey, I didn't say it!" he added defensively as Torres turned a scowl upon him. "Oh, yeah. They said something about the Senior Staff. And I thought---maybe they didn't mean---I'm sorry. I didn't really pay much attention. Gossips are NOT my favorite people."

B'Elanna slipped her hand into his. She understood that statement very well. Tom Paris had been a favorite target of most of the gossips on this ship from the beginning of his posting to Voyager. In fact, until she had gotten to know him better herself, she had believed many of the false rumors about him. Tom squeezed her hand gratefully, not taking his eyes from Chakotay's.

Chakotay noticed the silent offer of support and its acceptance. He felt it was a good sign. He sighed. "Crew evaluations and promotion recommendations have been on everyone's minds lately. Maybe that's the source for that rumor. It could have been about anyone."

"So what's got you worried?" Torres asked.

Chakotay raised an eyebrow. "Without being obvious about it, take a look around this room."

Paris and Torres did exactly that, taking note of those present and their activities. There was nothing unusual going on---a pool game, a card game in one corner, most people sitting together as couples or small groups, talking and drinking.

"I don't get it," Torres said impatiently.

Paris nodded slowly, looking at Chakotay. "Oh. I do. B'Elanna, look at the composition of the groups."

"Comp---what?" B'Elanna stood and revolved, slowly staring at each table in turn. So much for subtlety. She plopped back in the chair and glanced from the pilot to the first officer. "So what? Male, female. Mixed groups. What are you getting at?"

Paris sighed. Sometimes his love could be astonishingly narrow of vision. Unless the matter in question involved a technical or engineering problem. "B'Elanna, the Maquis and the Starfleet crews aren't mingling. The Maquis are all at those tables to the right of the bar. The 'Fleeters are all to the left and in the center."

"What's going on, Chakotay?" she demanded.

"I don't know. I was hoping you did. It was too much to hope it might be something simple, I guess," he said, sipping his syntheholic beer. "I've noticed increasing tension the last couple of weeks. But no one's talking. I can't get a straight answer out of anyone. I'd hoped you might have heard something."

"I'm too busy to hear anything," Torres snorted. "And they're busy talking about Paris----not to him!"

"Hey!" Tom protested reflexively, but subsided when she shot him a smile.

"I'll figure it out eventually," Chakotay stated. "So what have you two been up to? I haven't seen you in the messhall for dinner for the last couple of nights."

"Malista has been doing the cooking. And, oh, Chakotay, what you have missed! Have you ever had moussaka?" Tom patted his flat, muscular stomach for emphasis.

The first officer smiled wryly. "No, I don't believe I have. What is it?"

"A Greek dish. Ground lamb with sliced eggplant. And we had rice pilaf and fried zucchini, with gingerbread men for dessert." Tom licked his lips as he reminisced about his latest repast.

"Gingerbread? Is that part of Greek cuisine?" Chakotay asked.

"No, but it's Harry's favorite," Torres replied. "And what did *you* have for dinner, Commander?" Her brown eyes snapped with mischief.

Chakotay grimaced. "Pleeka rind stew. Again."

"Aw," Tom groaned with mock sympathy. "Too bad."

"I may have a talk with your 'sister', Mr. Paris. It may be bad for morale if the crew finds out how well she cooks and that they aren't invited to share the meals," Chakotay teased. "She could at least invite me."

B'Elanna sniffed. "I don't know what the fuss is about. Anyone can cook. It's not that hard."

Chakotay sputtered into his beer. "B'Elanna! That from you---of all people!"

Sensing a good story, Tom closed in. "Oh? There's something I need to know?"

"No!" B'Elanna said with a threatening glance at her commander.

"Yes," he corrected. "Tom, you're looking at the only Starfleet cadet in Academy history who managed to burn----"

Torres surged to her feet and flounced away with a searing glance over her shoulder at both men. She headed for the bar.

Chakotay and Paris exchanged glances. "Oops?"

"She's on a short fuse," Chakotay commented. "Any idea why?"

"I'm not sure. Overwork? She has been working awfully hard. I tried to get her to relax, but---" Tom shrugged.

"Or jealousy?" the first officer speculated.

Tom squinted at him. "I beg your pardon? Jealousy? Now, wait just a minute, Chakotay---" He stopped as Chakotay held up a placating hand.

"I don't mean you've given her reason to be jealous. Think about it, Tom. You're bragging about someone else's cooking and I start to tell a story that makes her out to be a lousy cook."

"You think she's jealous----of Malista?" Tom was incredulous. That would never have occurred to him.

"Just think about it. B'Elanna is very competitive----"

"No, really?" said Tom with heavy sarcasm. "I never noticed that!"

Chakotay's patience held. "Malista can cook. B'Elanna can't. Malista can knit. B'Elanna isn't good at that kind of thing either. Malista doesn't lose her temper. B'Elanna blows up easily. If she thinks you're comparing them---maybe she feels---inadequate."

"That's ridiculous! I've never said or done anything to---Let's just see about that!" Tom said indignantly and strode over to the bar.

Torres pointedly ignored him, keeping her eyes on her drink.

"We need to talk," Tom said flatly. He was not going to take 'no' as an answer.

Torres ignored him.

"Fine. If you want to talk here," Tom's volume increased as he went on, "then we'll TALK HERE WHERE EVERYBODY CAN HEAR---"

Torres stabbed him with a glare as her hand flew up to cover his mouth. Satisfied that he was silenced, she spun on her heel and strode out of the holodeck, leaving it to him to follow---or not.

Paris was right behind her all the way to her quarters, neither of them speaking.

She stalked into her living area and turned to face him, hands on hips. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yes," Paris snarled, his easygoing charm had been left behind in the holodeck. "I do want to talk. You want to tell me what the hell *that* was all about?"

"What?" she snapped.

"We seem to be having a good time, then Chakotay starts to tell a joke that might make you look bad---and all of a sudden you're in some kind of Klingon snit! That's what! Where's your sense of humor? What's the problem?"

"I am NOT in a Klingon snit!" she seethed.

"Then what do you call it?" he asked sardonically. "Heaven forbid, we should use the wrong terminology!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She pounced on his words. "Are you making fun of my limited vocabulary?"

Paris was thrown by the sudden turn. "What?! *Now* what are you talking about? If you're going to change subjects in midstream, Torres, the least you could do is signal!"

"What?" It was her turn to be mystified by his mixed metaphor. "What are you talking about?"

He brought his long, slender fingers up to massage his temples. "I have no idea," he said, helplessly. "Do you think maybe we could manage to argue about one thing at a time here, Torres?"

"I'm not the one who wanted to argue," she retorted snippily. "You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk." She folded her arms across her chest in unconscious imitation of one of his favorite gestures.

He clenched his jaw to restrain his first impulsive reply. "I want to know what just happened. Did you get mad because Chakotay was going to make fun of your cooking?"

She couldn't decide what she wanted to answer to that question. She compromised. "Maybe."

He rolled his eyes.

"Stop that!" she snapped.

"Now what?" Paris said with exasperation.

"Stop making fun of me!"

"How did I do that?" He was honestly confused.

"You made a face---like you're humoring me."

"B'Elanna, I am NOT humoring you. I have NO idea what's going on here, but I do know that much. Now---what is the problem? You can't cook? Is that what upset you?"

She bobbed her head up and down, not trusting her voice, then lifted her chin and glowered at him defiantly.

He stared at her. "So? What is it you're waiting for me to say? Am I supposed to *care* that you can't cook?"

She dropped her eyes to the floor, unsure of how to state her concerns without appearing foolish or petty.

"Tell me what my next line is, Torres. You seem to be writing your own script here---my lines and yours. Am I supposed to scream with horror and say 'You can't cook---then I'm out of here. Goodbye, Sweetheart.' ? Is *that* what I'm supposed to do?" The words ground out between clenched teeth.

Her head almost lifted. He took it as a nod.

"Tough. I'm not saying it. If you want to get rid of me, you're going to have to find a better excuse for dumping me," he said bitterly.

Her head flew up, her eyes seeking his. "Dumping you?"

"Isn't that what you want?" Paris said, surprised he could speak at all with a lump the size of a baseball in his throat.

"No!" She crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat and seized his forearms. "Tom, no!" She couldn't find words either. She gazed up at him, but just looking at him wasn't enough. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly to her body. After a hesitant moment, his arms came up tentatively and tightened around her.

Tom felt exhausted by the abrupt swings in moods and emotions. "What just happened here, B'Ella? I don't understand. Help me understand. I can't conceive of how we got from joking in Sandrine's to talking about breaking up in less than twenty minutes."

She was amazed at how sensitive he was---and aghast at how easily he expected her to walk away from him. She rubbed her face against the well-defined muscles of his chest and mumbled, "I got in a Klingon snit?"

She felt a rumble of relieved laughter under her cheek. "Yeah, I guess so." His hand came up to stroke her hair, pressing her closer to his body.

"Tom." She squeezed him tighter, possessively.

"Yes?"

"I'm NOT letting you go. I'm NOT dumping you. I'm NOT letting you get away from me---never." The repetition reassured him of her seriousness.

"Okay. Now that we have that settled, maybe we can talk---and argue about the same thing at the same time?" They moved to the couch and sat down, arms around each other.

"I'm sorry," she blurted. "I overreacted."

"So did I. I've got to learn to stop expecting the worst," Tom said ruefully. After a moment, he cautiously added, "Chakotay thought you might be jealous."

"What?!"

"That's what * I * said," he stated sagaciously.

B'Elanna subsided. "He might be right. He usually is. At least when it comes to me."

"Really? You're jealous of Malista? I don't understand. Why?"

She studied the toes of her boots as she answered. "I've been thinking about it for awhile. It's not just the cooking. I guess I could learn to do that---if I wanted to---if you wanted me to. It's a lot of things."

"A lot of things like what?" he prodded gently.

"She's so tall and elegant-looking. She moves flowingly---all smooth movements and easy elegance---like you. Maybe it's because you're both so tall. I feel short and clumsy next to her."

"Funny. She wishes she was shorter---and graceful like you. She told me she feels like a gawky, hulking monster sometimes. Especially when she stands next to you."

"Really?" B'Elanna found it hard to believe.

"Yes. You know she's still not convinced she's attractive at all. That's why I have to be careful when I tease her. She's insecure. If you listen for it, she puts herself down all the time. She's not very sure of herself---in any way."

Torres considered that for a moment. "She always *looks* so sure of herself. It's hard to believe she's not totally confident and in control. You're saying she runs a good bluff---like you do?"

Tom nodded ruefully. "If you watch her eyes carefully, you can see through it. Most of the time. Anything else on your list?"

"She's better on the trapeze than I am," Torres grumbled.

"She's been doing it since she was four years old, B'Ella," he said reasonably.

Having no good response for that argument, Torres abandoned that subject with alacrity. "She can cook," B'Elanna mumbled. "I managed to set fire to Starfleet emergency rations."

"You're kidding?" Paris grinned. He couldn't resist. The Starfleet emergency rations were supposed to be absolutely foolproof. She rammed a small fist lightly into his ribs. "Ow! Okay. So you can't cook. Why do you need to? We can go to the messhall. Or I can cook. Or we can replicate food. OR we can hint around for invitations to dinner with Malista and Harry. They're easy."

"You don't mind that I can't cook?" She hated to admit she was less than competent at anything. Especially something so simple, so basic a survival skill.

"B'Elanna, I don't understand why it's supposed to matter."

She peered up into his face. He seemed to be sincere.

His eyes flashed angrily as he recalled something else she'd said. "And what was that crack you made about your limited vocabulary? I never said that---or thought anything like that."

She abruptly found his hand on hers to be a fascinating sight. "When you and Malista talk sometimes you use words and expressions---"

Her meaning broke through the fog of his confusion like a beam of sunlight and he nodded. "Oh. Oh, I see. B'Elanna, how do you think I feel when you and Harry take off prattling about some warp engine component or some technical aspect of the ship's design that I know nothing about?"

"Dumb?" she ventured.

He grinned. "No. Maybe I should, but I don't. I feel bored. It isn't my area of interest. You give me a ship---any ship---and I'll fly it---very well, if I do say so myself. But don't ask me to build one. You give me an emergency and I'll figure out how to repair what needs fixing, because I have to---but don't ask me to do routine maintenance. And Malista loves that stuff. She'd do nothing but tinker on equipment all day and every day if you'd let her. Everyone has different interests. I don't expect you to share ALL my interests. I don't share all of yours. But we can still respect each other and spend time together."

"I just felt---you have so much more in common with Malista---"

"Yes. We do have similar interests in literature, poetry, and music. Sure, I want to spend time with her. I enjoy her company and talking about those things. And sometimes I might want to spend time just with Harry---doing guy things. Mostly I want to be with you."

"I'm glad."

"But as for comparing you and Malista---I wouldn't do that. I know---I hate that feeling myself---the feeling that I'm being compared to someone else and that I'm never going to measure up," Tom murmured. His arms tightened around her.

"Your father?" She gazed up at him sadly.

"Yeah, but right now I was thinking of---Chakotay," he finished reluctantly.

"Chakotay?" She seemed surprised. "Who does *he* compare you to?"

His brow crinkled as he stared at her. "Not him. You. I thought you might be comparing me to Chakotay----" He broke off as he read her expression. "No?"

"Tom, you're two very different people. I admire Chakotay. I respect him. I may have even entertained some fantasies about him now and then----"

"Really? Yuck. He's not your type at all. Mine either for that matter."

She thumped his arm. "I'm not joking. But you're right. Chakotay and I would drive each other crazy."

"Oh, yeah. Unlike you and I," Tom said snidely.

"We don't. You've been good to me---and for me." She cleared her throat. "I don't want to make comparisons either. I'm interested in you because of who you are---not for who you aren't. And, in a strange way, I like it that you won't let me get away with anything."

"For example?"

"My Klingon snit?" She smiled at him reluctantly. "If you'd left me to it, I would have brooded my way into a full blown tantrum---and somehow it would have been all your fault that I lost my temper."

"I could say the same thing to you." Tom rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. "You don't let me get away with hiding any more. You force me to confront or at least express my feelings, instead of just joking about everything. At least when I'm alone with you." He was becoming uneasy with the seriousness of their conversation, but there were a few things he'd been wanting to tell her and he didn't want to let the opportunity pass by. "You know I don't understand why you were concentrating on all the things you *don't* do well? You should list all the talents you do have."

"What do you mean?"

"You were comparing yourself with Malista only in the things she does better than you do. If you're going to do comparisons---be fair. Also list the things you do better than she does."

With a smile, she relaxed into the curve of his arm. "For example?"

He began to enumerate her virtues and skills. It took some time. Especially since she volunteered to demonstrate some of them. Very successfully.

********************

Malista's life had fallen into a pattern. She worked her regular shift, spent most of Beta shift with Harry---or Harry, Tom, and B'Elanna---then had several hours to kill before she would be worn out enough to sleep soundly. Getting some work done seemed like a good idea and during third shift not that many people were awake. She envied those who slept peacefully.

As she came around the corner, she stopped so precipitately she almost left skid marks with the heels of her boots. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped forward. There was no way to avoid them---the two men she'd hoped to elude for as long as possible.

Their shift assignment had changed and she hadn't known. They were in a direct line with her destination---Shuttlebay One. She was in a public corridor. They wouldn't dare do anything to hurt her. So she would try to ignore them.

Crewman Paul Castelle, Engineering, was working on a malfunctioning commpanel in the corridor. Lieutenant Laro Longoria, on an errand from the Biology Lab, had stopped to talk to his friend. The conversation ended abruptly as Malista came into view. The two men ran their eyes up and down her body as she approached.

Longoria 'accidentally' moved to block her path, while ostensibly speaking to Castelle. "You know I used to think Niko Dishon was one lucky man. After he was killed, I thought maybe I'd have a chance at his 'private stock', but I guess I'm out of luck, huh, Paul?"

"We don't have enough to offer, Laro. Some people are ambitious."

She side-stepped to the left, trying to get past. Unsuccessfully. They were being much more persistent this time. It was the fourth time this week that the two men had found an opportunity to confront her. Ignoring them didn't seem to make an impression on them.

"I wonder how much good it does to 'ingratiate' yourself with the Senior Officers. Do you think we should try it, Paul?"

"No, Laro. I don't think *we* have the bodies for it! But it might get someone else a promotion. You think?" He licked his lips, smacking them, as he leered deliberately at Shadow.

She sidestepped to the right.

Castelle 'accidentally' blocked her path with the open commpanel. "Does Harry Kim know you're just using him? Or does he even care? Come on, Shadow. Tell us your secret. You've got three---no, make that four of the senior staff eating out of your hand. Is that some kind of Maquis trick?"

"Don't forget the captain, Paul. She was sitting with them at Sandrine's the other night. Our girl here is scoring big points with the command team. How do you do it, Shadow? One at a time or in groups?" he snickered. "When does your promotion come through?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malista said tersely. "Excuse me. I have to go." Her features were frozen, her tone icy. Her problem with these two seemed to worsen at every encounter. They'd limited themselves to verbal insults----so far. Their insults were just variations on the theme they'd been harping on. She didn't meet their eyes, but took another step forward, bringing her elbows up to use, if needed, to push past them. She was going to get past them and away from them. She would not back off this time.

With insulting slowness, Longoria moved aside. He left barely enough room for Malista to squeeze between Castelle and himself without touching them. As she took a step, he deliberately brushed a hand across her hip. He'd never been quite so blatant about his sexual advances before.

She darted away, getting away from them as quickly as possible---but not before she heard them laugh contemptuously behind her.

She arrived in the shuttlebay and set her toolbox down on the deck next to the Cochrane. She jumped, startled, when Ensign Ethan Simms appeared in the open hatchway of the shuttle.

"Hi, Malista." Simms looked up from studying the padd in his hand and greeted her with a friendly grin. He'd been grinning even more often than usual since he and Janine Lamont had been seeing each other. The Security Officer took note of Shadow's pale face. "Are you okay?"

She tried to return his smile. "Fine. Can I help you with something?" She knew the ensign from her time working in the Security office.

Though basically a shy man, given any hint of friendliness Ethan was as irrepressible as a puppy and almost as hard to ignore. He'd never seemed to notice that he had been doing all the talking in their cordial conversations during the slow shift periods in the Security Office. Maybe she felt comfortable with him because, as long as Malista had known him, he'd only had eyes for Ensign Janine Lamont. Other women didn't seem to exist for Ethan---at least not as women. Just as fellow crewmembers. It had been a comforting indifference that made her less uneasy in his presence.

"No, I was just checking the shuttle's weapons locker. Routine check. This is the last one." Simms couldn't hide the concern in his Kelly green eyes. He was trained to be observant and he was observing that Malista Shadow looked distracted---and though her expression gave little away---Ethan thought she looked unhappy. "What are you doing here? I thought you were working Alpha Shift?" It was the beginning of the Gamma Shift, just after 2400 ship's time. Those working the Alpha Shift would normally be sleeping at this time.

She avoided his eyes, kneeling and opening her toolkit. "Just a little overtime. Don't you change shifts next week?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't notice the abrupt change of subject.

"Yeah. Mikel and I go back to Beta Shift," Simms agreed. He still couldn't put his finger on it, but his intuition was telling him something was wrong. It was evident from her body language that Malista Shadow didn't want to talk about it. He'd learned a lot about interpreting body language from Janine. He gave a mental shrug as he examined her once more. "Well, I'll see you."

"Good night," Shadow responded. She slid under the shuttle and opened an access panel.

********************

Harry Kim cast a quick glance around the messhall. "Tom."

"Yeah, Harry?" Paris raised his eyes gratefully from his contemplation of the blue and green concoction on his lunch tray. Maybe, if he didn't look at it? He placed a forkful into his mouth, careful not to let it cross his line of vision. He chewed and swallowed. "Not bad. The texture's pretty good. It's edible if you just don't see it."

Kim leaned in and spoke in an undertone. "Tom, is it my imagination, or are we getting some nasty looks from the Maquis who are here?"

Working on another bite, Paris let his eyes wander around the room as he chewed and swallowed. "It's not your imagination," he stated matter-of-factly. "Now the question remains: Who are they looking at? You, me, or us?"

Harry's brow creased as he thought that over. "Wouldn't the proper question be, why?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry. If you know who, it goes a long way toward telling you why---usually," he tacked on. "Okay, let's find out who. I'm going to leave the table and we'll identify the object of their disregard. You want some coffee?"

Kim shook his head and tried a bite of his own lunch. He tried not to make it obvious that he was watching the Maquis as Tom crossed the room to get his coffee.

It was him. They were all staring at Harry Kim. Not one Maquis had followed Tom's progress. He looked up as Tom rejoined him at the table.

Tom's eyebrows rose. "It's definitely you, old buddy. What have you done to get the Maquis ticked off at you?"

"Nothing," Harry protested. "That I can think of."

Tom frowned. "No one has said anything?"

"No. But come to think of it, I've been getting strange looks for the past week or two---maybe longer than that."

"Maybe B'Elanna knows. She hears most of the gossip," Tom suggested.

"I'll ask her tonight. You two are coming to dinner?" Harry asked.

"Malista is cooking?" Tom verified and grinned as Harry nodded. "We'll be there with bells on. Then we have to get to Sandrine's for the pool tournament."

"Tom," Harry asked hesitantly. "Have you noticed that Malista doesn't seem to want to go anywhere any more? I mean, we work out on the holodeck three times a week in the circus program, but other than that---"

"I thought you liked spending time in her quarters or yours?" Tom teased. "You don't have to worry about PDA's there!"

Harry felt himself flushing, but he couldn't get upset with Tom. He did enjoy spending private time with Malista. Too much of their courtship had taken place in the forum of the ship's public areas such as Sandrine's for Harry's comfort.

Harry Kim had never been as social as Tom Paris. Something of a homebody, he enjoyed having dinner alone with Tom, B'Elanna, and Malista in her quarters or his. After dinner, Tom and B'Elanna sat and talked with Harry and Malista or left for Sandrine's to play pool. Harry sometimes practiced his clarinet while Malista listened appreciatively or read. Sometimes Malista tinkered with repairing something while Harry read or worked on the computer terminal. They were enjoying each other's companionship and getting to know each other on many levels.

With one notable exception.

Paris snapped him out of his reverie. "Harry, we have five minutes to get back to the bridge. Eat up!"

Harry did as he was told.

*********************

Jenny Delaney snagged Malista's arm and dragged her into a side corridor. "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Why?" Shadow looked down at the redhead. "And why are we hiding?"

Jenny's eyes were sparkling. "Because it's time for step two in our plan to get George Natwick."

"Step two? What happened to step one?" Malista asked, blinking in confusion. "Did I miss something?" She'd been so distracted by other problems, she'd all but forgotten the plans for revenge being hatched by the Delaneys. Now that it had been brought back to her attention, she wasn't sure if she wanted to go through with it or not.

Jenny stuck her head out into the main corridor and ducked back into hiding. "Now, all you have to do is just walk down this hall. Do you know where George's quarters are?"

"No, why?"

"It's the third door on the right. Just a second." She glanced down at a small device in her right hand.

"Jenny, why am I---"

A red light appeared on the device. "That's Megan's signal. I'll explain later, Malista. Now, don't ruin everything. Just walk by George's quarters. Casually. He's on his way. When you get to his door, stop. When he comes around the corner from the turbolift, smile at him and then start walking again," Delaney whispered. "Go!" She pushed her friend out into the main corridor.

Not knowing what else to do, Malista followed directions. She didn't have long to wait. George came around the corner, his steps slowing as he saw her standing there. She smiled at him and started to move past him.

"Malista? Were you---looking for me?" he asked, sounding and looking almost wistful. It was an expression that contrasted wildly with his normal self-sufficient demeanor.

Malista almost panicked. Jenny hadn't told her what to do if he spoke to her! Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she turned to face him with the smile still in place. "No, George. I wasn't looking for you. Is there some reason I should be?"

"I guess not," he said impassively.

She turned and continued on her way to the turbolift. She needed to talk to the Delaneys about this. She'd been so preoccupied with other matters, she'd almost forgotten they were plotting against Natwick.

The ensign stepped toward the door to his quarters. He halted and studied the door suspiciously. He was a well-trained Security Officer. He quickly found the signs that the manual lock had been tampered with---just as Jenny Delaney had planned.

She walked around the corner into view and greeted him with a friendly smile. "Hi, George." She appeared to notice his attention to the door controls. "Is something wrong?" she asked innocently, widening her blue eyes.

***********************

Harry pushed his chair back from the table with a groan. "Malista, you're going to be the death of me! Tom's already teasing me about gaining weight! I'll have to replicate a larger uniform if you keep feeding me like this!"

She flashed a grin at him as she cleared the plates away. "I didn't force you to have seconds---or was it thirds?"

He smiled guiltily. "I never tried dolmades before. How did you get the replicator to---you're a miracle worker. That has to be the explanation. But you didn't eat very much yourself."

"I tend to sample as I'm cooking. By the time it's ready, I'm not very hungry." She returned to the table, intending to get the rest of the dishes. He snagged her waist with one hand and pulled her into his lap. She giggled and slid her arms around his neck. In what had become their own private ritual, he cupped his palm around the nape of her neck and tugged her face down to his for a kiss.

"Mmm. B'Elanna was right---as always. Tall people will bend for shorter ones," Harry murmured, nuzzling her neck.

"Given sufficient motivation," she whispered, nibbling at the rim of his ear.

She felt lighter than usual in his arms. "Have you lost weight?" he asked, trying to keep his concern from showing.

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "I've worked off a few pounds on the trapeze. Don't want to look chubby when you're wearing tights." After a moment, she asked, "Are you ready for dessert?" She hopped off his lap and took the rest of the dishes to the reclamator.

He groaned again. "I don't think I could eat another----"

"I made baklava," she called.

One of his favorite desserts. He would make room for that. "Maybe later?" Kim got to his feet and stretched before moving toward his music stand and picking up his clarinet. "With coffee?"

"I thought you were stuffed?" she teased as she came in and settled on his couch with a padd in hand.

"I am. But you put temptation in my path! Forget Aphrodite! I've changed my mind. I think you're more like Circe---an enchantress." He looked up and caught her gazing at him with rapt intensity. "What?"

She shook her head, smiling. "Nothing."

"No, really. Why are you looking at me like that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. How am I looking at you?" She dropped her eyes shyly to the padd in her hand.

He put the clarinet down and came to sit next to her on the couch. He took her hand in his. "Like you're trying to memorize me?"

"Oh, but I have to memorize you, Harry. I don't have any pictures of you to look at when you aren't around." She still didn't meet his eyes.

He pretended to consider that. "You could always download my service record picture," he suggested.

"Harry, do you know how stuffy you look in that one?" she protested, wrinkling her nose at him. She tried to back away from him.

He grasped her wrist to keep her near. "Oh, I do, do I? And how would you know that, Crewman Shadow? Have you been sneaking a peek at my service record?"

She bit her lip as she nodded. He brought one thumb up to free her lip from its trap between her teeth.

"Really? Why?" He was intrigued.

"Harry." She was blushing.

"Malista," he crooned, smiling broadly.

"To tell you the truth---promise not to tell Tom? He'd never stop teasing me about it."

His smile widened. "Sure."

"I sort of had a crush on you and I got your service record picture---just to look at." She giggled at his astonished countenance. "I know it was childish and silly, but---the first time I saw you, I thought you were very good-looking. Even if that picture does make you look stuffy. I still think you're the handsomest man on the ship."

He chose to ignore that ego-building exaggeration. "When?"

"When what?"

"When did you have a crush on me?" Harry'd had no idea she'd been interested in him at all before Tom had brought them together. In fact, he'd had the impression she didn't like him at all. In hindsight, he decided it was her shyness and self-consciousness that had made her appear unfriendly and standoffish.

She tugged her wrists free and brought her hands up to cover her reddened cheeks. "Oh, probably since the second day the Maquis were on Voyager." And of course, he hadn't noticed her at all. "And you didn't know I existed till Tom befriended me."

"I must have been blind," he marveled.

"No. Just not ready to pay attention to anyone," she said softly.

"I saw your service record picture too," Harry replied, not wanting to stay on that topic. Tom had told him repeatedly that Libby was a forbidden subject---at least until Malista was more secure in her own relationship with Harry.

"Really? When?"

"At the staff meeting when the captain found out you were working two shifts." He thought he saw a flash of guilt in her eyes, but dismissed the idea. She couldn't still be feeling guilty about that piece of deception. That was months ago.

"Oh? And what did you think?" she asked coyly.

"You weren't smiling at all. You looked stern and forbidding. Scared me half to death," he lied boldly.

She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Liar. You don't scare that easily."

He snatched her hand and kissed her palm. "Remind me and we'll get Tom to take a flattering picture of the two of us. Two pictures. One for your quarters and one for mine."

A fleeting shadow crossed her expression, but before he could question her, she pushed him toward the music stand. "Practice, Harry. Practice. You have a concert next week."

"Yes, mother," he whined boyishly. He began to play as she settled down to read from the padd. Or at least she was reading every time he looked up from his music.

***********************

The doctor looked up as Malista Shadow came through the doorway of his office. "Crewman Shadow, Commander Chakotay tells me you are interested in training to be a field medic."

"Yes, sir." She was standing at attention.

The hologram indicated the chair opposite his. She sat down. "It will require hours of study and practice, Crewman. Are you willing to make that kind of commitment and effort?" His brusqueness could easily be mistaken for unkindness, but Malista had spent quite a bit of time in Sickbay---as a patient and working on the equipment. She was accustomed to his direct manner and dry wit and not intimidated by him---at least not much.

"Yes, sir."

He nodded approvingly and held out a padd. "Since our crew is predominantly human, we will begin by studying emergency procedures for the treatment of humans. This will give you information about human anatomy and first aid procedures. I will work with Lieutenant Torres to schedule time for you to work in Sickbay so that you may learn to operate the specialized equipment. If an emergency should arise, you should report here for duty. Unfortunately, this ship seems to experience uncommonly frequent emergencies resulting in traumatic injuries."

She looked over the information on the padd, then glanced back up at him. "Thank you, Doctor. Kes tells me you're an excellent instructor."

The EMH gave a pleased, slightly embarrassed smile. "She did? Well, of course, she did. I am. My programming---" The doctor missed Kes, his first friend. The Ocampan had been spending less and less time in Sickbay as she pursued other courses of study in various ship's departments in an effort to satisfy her endless curiosity.

"I don't think it could be just programming, Doctor. I think part of it is your personality," Malista said thoughtfully.

"I am a hologram. I don't have a personality," the doctor announced decisively.

Shadow chuckled, "Trust me, Doc. You have a personality. And you're developing a sense of humor. In fact, you remind me of my Uncle Dionysus."

"Really? Dionysus?" He seemed to be trying the name on for size.

Her lips curved upward as she reminisced. "Yes. He was my favorite uncle. He was a very compassionate man, but many people thought he was forbidding. He frowned a lot, you see."

The doctor's brow creased. "Do I do that? Frown? I was not aware of it."

"Maybe you should smile more, Doc. But only when you mean it," she added hastily as he peered at his reflection in the polished surface of his desk and stretched his mouth experimentally in a wide, insincere grin that was far more scary than reassuring.

The Doctor turned his attention back to her. He studied her appearance for a moment and then said, "Crewman Shadow, your uniform appears to be too large. Have you been losing weight or is there a flaw in the replication system?"

She immediately distracted him without answering the question. "Have you heard about my holoprogam? The circus?"

"Yes. Kes tells me you and Mr. Paris are going to perform in the next talent show."

"I've been getting a lot of exercise there. You know, any good circus needs a ringmaster. In our circus at home, that was my Uncle Dionysus. I was just wondering if you might consider being the ringmaster---the master of ceremonies."

"Yes. Yes, of course. I would make an excellent master of ceremonies. I'll find a proper costume in the databanks. Thank you for asking me."

Malista got to her feet. "I have to get back to work, Doc." She held up the padd. "I'll get to work on this right away."

Recalled from his daydreams of glory as a ringmaster, the doctor nodded briskly. "Of course. When you're ready for another assignment, contact me. I'm available twenty-four hours a day, you know."

Malista darted an assessing glance at him. There didn't seem to be any underlying meaning to his words so she smiled at him again. "Bye, Doc."

He'd already dismissed her from his mind. He was busily accessing the computer's databanks for information on circuses.

***********************

Voyager, as always, was on the lookout for replacement parts or the raw materials with which to create their own parts. According to the starcharts obtained from the Travelers, there were three uninhabited planets in the next system that possessed lush vegetation that would allow the Starfleet crew to stock up on edible plants, fruits, vegetables, and seedlings. Janeway had ordered long range scans of the uninhabited planetary systems which they were approaching.

"No humanoid life signs were detected," Ensign Kim reported. "In fact no signs of life at all except for vegetation."

"If the planets are as fertile as the Travelers suggest in their report, I'd think someone would have colonized them by now," Chakotay stated.

"There was no sign of colonies or space travel. But we did find these," Kim leaned forward and punched a control. The viewscreen sprung to life showing a number of small objects floating in space within the system. "They appear to be artificial satellites of some sort."

"Possibly monitoring devices," Torres chimed in. "We received some telemetry from the nearest one, but we haven't been able to make any sense of it."

"Some kind of warning buoy?" Lieutenant Tuvok speculated.

Paris sent him a disbelieving smile. "Not necessarily. It could be someone is thinking about colonizing these worlds and sent out preliminary probes to gather information."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "An optimistic theory, Mr. Paris, but one with no factual basis."

Tom snorted and leaned forward to respond. The captain caught his eyes with hers and the gray steel convinced him to settle back in his chair and await developments.

"Keep working on decoding the telemetry, Mr. Kim. I would like to know if we're trespassing before we reach the system and begin harvesting food," Janeway instructed. "Anything further? No? Dismissed."

As the rest of the staff filed out of the briefing room, the first officer lingered.

Janeway glanced up at him. "Did you have something to discuss, Commander?"

"Yes, Captain," he sighed, "but in private."

She gestured to the chair next to her as she reseated herself. He sank into his chair and tried to decide how to begin. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I haven't brought this to your attention before, Captain, because I wanted to find out how serious and widespread the problem is. But I've been having difficulty doing that," Chakotay paused. "It seems there has been a resurgence in tension between the two crews."

Janeway's gray eyes widened. "Really? I thought we'd gotten past that---after we were marooned by the Kazon on Hanon IV."

Chakotay shrugged. "There are still a few hard heads, but basically you're right. Most of the ill feeling had subsided or been worked out. It's experienced a recent revival."

"Why?" Janeway was concerned. She cast her mind back over the events of the last few weeks and could think of nothing that should have polarized the crew.

"That's part of the problem. No one is talking. To anyone," the first officer elucidated. "The Maquis have----withdrawn from their easy, social relationships. They seem to be watching the 'Fleeters as if they expect an attack. The last time I saw them react this way was when we were in Cardassian space."

"Do you think it might have something to do with the crew evaluations and promotions lists we've been working on?"

Chakotay shrugged. "I don't know. I suggest we hold off on scheduling the evaluation meetings and announcing the results. It might help ease things a bit. But whatever the cause, the tension has been steadily rising for the past few weeks."

"And you have no idea what set this off?" Janeway was puzzled.

"No one's talking to me, either. In fact, they're watching me, too. Trying to see what I'm going to do about it. Don't read me wrong, Captain. They aren't actively hostile. They just aren't friendly. And the Starfleet personnel aren't talking either. It seems to be about ten of the Starfleet crew who know what is going on and are somehow involved. In whatever. The others are puzzled, but neutral. It makes for an interesting ambiance in the common areas of the ship," Chakotay added wryly.

"I hadn't noticed," Janeway confessed regretfully. "Maybe I need to spend more time socializing."

That reminded the commander of the question he'd forgotten to ask before. "Yes, Captain. You did seem to be enjoying yourself at Sandrine's the other night with Tom Paris and his crowd. Would you mind telling me why everyone at your table was staring at me?"

To his mild surprise, the captain flicked a grin at him as she remembered the occasion. "Oh, yes. It seems that Tom and Malista invented a game. The object is to identify every crew member with a literary figure. We'd just been discussing the character Malista had chosen to represent you." The grin was now reminiscent of a Tom Paris smirk.

Chakotay winced in anticipation as a few ideas of their possible choices for him popped into his head. "And?"

"Oberon." She waited for recognition to set in.

The light slowly dawned. "The character from Shakespeare? The fairy king?" His voice became progressively louder. "Why?"

Janeway's grin widened. "I was hoping you'd ask. Other than 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', other references to Oberon credit him with having the gift of insight into men's thoughts. Malista thought that was appropriate because of your----counseling duties." She was beginning to splutter.

Chakotay knew she hadn't reached the punchline. "And?"

"And though he's only three feet tall---he has an---angelic face!" At the expression on her first officer's 'angelic face', Janeway succumbed to laughter, falling back in her chair and holding her sides.

Chakotay looked bemused. "Angelic face? Me? She thinks *I* have an angelic face?" He grinned at the captain. "Angelic. That's not the word I would have used to describe myself."

"That's what * I * said," Kathryn burbled, watching as his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I said bear-like---if you remember? When I was guessing about your animal guide."

"Grizzly bear?" the first officer asked impishly. His dimples flashed.

Janeway gasped, "That's what *Tom* said! Grizzly or teddy?"

Chakotay groaned as she laughed again. "I don't think I want to hear the rest of the conversation, Captain. Unless---" He eyed her speculatively. "Captain, what character did they assign to you?"

She sobered in a heartbeat. "I beg your pardon?"

She was stalling for time and he knew it so he pressed his advantage. "Captain? What literary figure did they choose to represent you?"

She stood and pulled her uniform into perfect alignment. "Commander, don't you have work to do?" She was frowning, but her gray eyes were twinkling.

"I'll take that as a challenge, Captain," Chakotay responded. He headed for the door.

"And Chakotay?" He paused as the door slid open. "See if you can find out the reason for this unrest?"

"Of course, Captain."

**********************

Malista Shadow answered the summons to Megan Delaney's quarters and found the twins and Susan Nicoletti waiting for her. Megan insisted on getting refreshments served before she would allow Jenny to begin her first report on the results of their plan to get even with George Natwick.

Megan finally settled on the couch next to Malista and nodded at her sister.

"Finally," Jenny said with a pout. "You wouldn't believe it! We got him! Boy, did we get him!"

"I don't understand," Shadow said. "All I did was walk by his quarters and smile. What was the point of that?"

"Oh, I did all the hard work," Jenny scoffed. "After you left. He noticed the door---"

"What about the door?" Nicoletti interrupted.

"I fiddled with the lock."

"She made it look like someone---Malista---had entered his quarters without permission," Megan explained.

Malista was aghast. "He could have reported me for breaking and entering!"

"But he wouldn't," Jenny said. "That's what I was counting on."

'Mama Bear' Nicoletti began to frown disapprovingly.

"Anyway, just about the time he was wondering what you'd been doing in his quarters, innocent little me came along and sympathized with him," Jenny continued.

"Remember, at Sandrine's we told him that you were planning to get even with him. He's been looking for some kind of trick from you. And since we warned him, he's not expecting anything from us. Misdirection," Megan added.

Jenny made a face at her sister. "Don't break my flow with flashbacks. Okay, where was I? Oh, yeah. He noticed the lock had been tampered with. I was ready to offer all kinds of ideas about what you might have been up to, but George had a few of his own. He actually went and got a tricorder and scanned the door for booby traps before he opened it!" She and Megan laughed.

Shadow smiled uneasily. Nicoletti's frown deepened.

"And then he spent forty-five minutes going over his quarters---inch by inch, searching for the trick or tricks you'd pulled!" Megan chortled.

"What kind of tricks?" Shadow asked blankly.

"He checked the bed---to be sure you hadn't short-sheeted it or removed the supports---and all the other furniture for that matter! Even the ceiling tiles and lighting fixtures! Then I batted my eyes and said that if I was going to play a joke on someone I'd do something to the soap. He ran the tricorder over every single item in his quarters! Even his clothing! In fact, he thought of stuff WE never thought of, right, Meg?" Jenny's laughter began to subside.

"I still don't get it. What did he think I'd done?"

Megan and Jenny exchanged glances. Some people just didn't have a prankster mentality. "Switching his dentifrice with his hair cream. Trick soap that stains the skin or contains an irritant. Shampoo laced with dye. Fixing his plumbing fixtures to leak or reverse pressure or change temperature," Jenny enumerated.

"Sabotaging his environmental controls, changing the gravity setting in his quarters, scrambling his replicator, rigging the lighting controls, causing his alarm to go off every hour---" Megan added to the list, breaking off when she and Jenny noticed that Nicoletti and Shadow appeared to be appalled rather than amused.

"What?" Jenny exclaimed defensively. "We didn't DO those things. We just let him think we might have---sorry, that *you* might have. He checked for every single one before he gave up. I bet he didn't relax for hours though."

"Maybe days," giggled Megan.

"Jenny, this has to stop. I don't want you to do anything else to George," Shadow stated. "I was mad at him at first---especially for hitting Harry---but Harry doesn't hold a grudge. He says it's a guy thing. But, I don't want George hurt---or upset. He really sort of did me a favor when he turned me down---you know."

Jenny and Megan sighed in unison. "But part three of the plan---"

"I agree with Malista," Nicoletti commented. "I think you should stop now. You had a little fun at Natwick's expense. That's enough."

"But why---"

"Because I think he really does care for Malista," Sue declared. "You could seriously hurt his feelings if you keep this up."

"What?" Shadow stared at her friend in surprise. The idea that Natwick might be seriously attracted to her had never even crossed her mind. She still had trouble believing Harry found her attractive.

Nicoletti kept her eyes on the twins, trying to impress them with the seriousness of the situation. "I think he likes you. Given some encouragement from you, he might fall in love with you. It's not fair to use that as a weapon against him for a joke."

"I don't know what to say. I never meant to---"

"I know you didn't, Malista," Sue added soothingly. "You didn't lead him on---at least, not after that one night----well, never mind. Don't worry about it. Just be no more than polite and I'm sure he'll get over it. In time."

Jenny and Megan traded glances and came to an agreement. "Okay, Sue. No more jokes."

"He might get over it faster, if someone else went after him," Jenny suggested coyly. "Don't you think, Sue?"

Nicoletti felt a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Megan's eyes rounded. "I didn't think you liked him!"

"I don't---didn't." The lieutenant shrugged. "He's changed. Malista had a good effect on him. She softened him up. Made him think about the feelings of other people."

"So are you going after him?" Jenny inquired.

"I'm thinking about it," Nicoletti declared defiantly. "Any objections?"

Her three friends shook their heads slowly. Malista smiled. "I think I need to talk to George though. And tell him I'm NOT going to do anything to him."

Jenny snorted. "I don't know if he'll believe you. Not after the way we set it up. He'll think you're trying to lull him into a false sense of security."

"You won't tell him it was all OUR idea?" Megan protested. She didn't want reprisals coming back at them when they least expected it. Paranoia was not a comfortable lifestyle.

"No, of course not," Shadow said soothingly. "Sue, would you go with me to see him tomorrow?"

"Sure." The two of them got to their feet and left.

"Rats," Jenny muttered. "I had another really good idea, too."

"Save it for next time, Jen. There's bound to be someone else who will tick us off soon enough," Megan said consolingly.

"True enough," her sister replied. With an evil smile she murmured, "It's never wise to cross a Delaney. We Irish can hold grudges like nobody's business."

"Well, we could go ahead and plan what we'll do to whoever our next victim will be," Megan suggested. "It wouldn't hurt to plan ahead. It will save time." The two exchanged wicked grins and got out a datapadd.

*********************

It was the middle of Beta shift. B'Elanna Torres was gleefully writing her final report concerning the completion of Engineering's last major project, the replacement of faulty power couplings in almost every system in the ship.

Tom Paris was at loose ends. He had finished dinner and was on his way to Holodeck Two to run some flight simulations he'd been working on. He needed to test them for himself and classify them according to level of difficulty before beginning to teach the next round of his piloting course.

"Lieutenant Paris?" The voice came from behind him.

Tom stopped and turned to see Ensign Ethan Simms approaching. "Hello, Ethe. What's up?"

"I was looking for you," Simms said, his face flushing, then he ground to a halt, as if considering his words carefully.

From the look on the young ensign's face, he had something to say---and Tom had a feeling he didn't want to hear it. That look reminded Paris of others he'd received---that usually preceded a reference to either Caldik Prime or Tom's prison record. He'd seen that look more times than he cared to remember.

"You found me," he replied casually. Paris' mask of politeness descended and his body stiffened, aware of a slight twinge of disappointment. He hadn't expected his past to be an issue with Ethan Simms. He'd thought they'd moved beyond that with their shared experiences on Voyager had created a positive relationship between them. Tom considered Ethan a friend---and he'd thought it was mutual.

Paris' courteous, but suddenly distant, smile threw Simms off balance. "Lieutenant?" he said cautiously.

"Yes?" The pilot waited patiently, bracing himself mentally for what was to come.

"Could we talk? I mean, could I buy you a drink at Sandrine's? I want to ask you a question," Simms said hesitantly. "I mean, if you have the time? I'm on my lunch break."

Tom felt himself relaxing slightly. So it wasn't the usual thing? Tom told himself he was being overly suspicious. Maybe Ethan just wanted some advice on his relationship with Janine? Well, he could make time for that. "Sure, Ethan," Paris replied. "I have a few minutes."

Simms waited until they were seated and had taken the first sip of their raktajinos before speaking again. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Lieutenant," he began.

"Tom. I'm off duty."

"Tom, I don't want you to think I'm being nosy---"

Paris studied him cautiously. "Ethan, I won't know what to think, if you never finish a sentence. Come on. Out with it! Is this about the betting pool? You want me to settle a bet?"

Ethan's fair complexion turned rosy in an instant. "No, sir! I mean, I wouldn't ask about your, uh, personal life just to settle a bet!"

"I heard you and Mik really cleaned up!" Tom teased. "Betting that Harry and Malista would get back together. Smart move."

Simms cleared his throat. "To tell you the truth, I have a question about Malista---Crewman Shadow---but I don't want to---I'm not sure if I should bring this up. I don't want to make trouble, so I didn't say anything to Lieutenant Torres, but I thought you might know if there's any reason---"

Tom's humor evaporated in an instant. "What about Malista?" he said tersely. His protective instincts surged to the surface at the mention of her name.

The younger man held up a placating hand. "It's not about the rumors---the ones about you and her and Torres."

Paris lounged back in his chair, forcing himself to at least appear relaxed. "So what is it about?"

"Do you know if Lt. Torres assigned---Is Malista supposed to be working overtime?" Ethan blurted. The pilot raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean---well, the thing is---Last week I was down in the shuttlebay---and Malista was there working on one of the shuttles. She said she was putting in a little overtime."

"So? Everyone does that now and then," the lieutenant commented.

"But that was when I was working Gamma shift," Ethan explained. "I mean, she's assigned to Alpha shift. If she was going to put in overtime, wouldn't that be during the beginning of Beta? Or the end of Gamma, just before her Alpha shift started?"

Paris nodded slowly. "Yeah. That does seem odd. Maybe she had insomnia?" Paris occasionally suffered from insomnia himself. It seemed a logical supposition.

Simms shrugged and stirred his raktajino.

"Was that all? Or was there more to it?" Paris asked, trying to interpret the other man's expression.

The ensign sighed and put down his mug. "I don't know if I should mention it, Lieutenant, I mean, Tom. I may be wrong. I might be seeing things that aren't there, you know? Sometimes Security men do that. It's part of our training---being ready to prevent trouble before it starts."

Paris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and gazed at the younger man intently. "Ethan, nothing you can tell me will hurt Malista. I know the kind of gossip you've probably heard---" He waved a hand to dismiss Simms' protest. "On a ship this size, gossip is a fact of life. The problem is sorting the fact from the fiction. The fact is this: As far as I'm concerned, I've adopted Malista Shadow as my sister. That's the way I think of her. We're not romantically involved. If anything, she's falling in love with my best friend, Harry Kim. If there's anything I can do to help her, I want to know about it."

Ethan looked Tom straight in the eye. "I don't know if it means anything, but when I saw Malista in the shuttlebay, she seemed upset. She tried to pretend everything was fine, but---I don't know exactly what I mean. She's pretty good at hiding her feelings most of the time, but I'm a trained observer and she was---rattled. She seemed nervous. She jumped a foot when I came out of the shuttle."

Paris opened his mouth, but Simms continued, "I know. She's always nervous around men. But she was never nervous around me before---at least not after the first couple of weeks on Voyager---after we'd spent some time together in the Security Office. And she was very antsy in the shuttlebay, but she wouldn't talk to me or tell me why. I didn't think much of it at the time, but the more I think about it---Like I said, it may be nothing, but she's so---" He gave up on words and shrugged. "She always looks like she's sure of herself and in control, but it's just a front. She seems so---defenseless."

Paris dipped his head in acknowledgment. "I know. That's why I've tried to help protect her. But she's trying to handle things on her own now. She hasn't been confiding in me."

"I just thought I should tell someone. In case there is something wrong. She couldn't be sleeping much. She was around a lot last week during Gamma shift. I noticed---because I checked," Simms concluded, getting to his feet.

"Thanks, Ethe." Paris stood and slapped the young man on the shoulder. "I appreciate your concern. Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. You're a good friend. To me and to her." To Tom's amusement, Simms blushed a fiery red.

"I felt like I kind of owed you one, sir. If it wasn't for you, Janine might have gotten tired of anonymous love letters and gone after someone who wasn't afraid to come right out and talk to her," he confided.

A bark of laughter escaped Tom. "Ha! That's what you think, Ethan. Don't tell her I told you, but Janine had your number from the time Voyager left DS9! You never had a prayer of escaping!"

"Really?" He hoped the lieutenant wasn't kidding him. It was too good to be true---that Janine had wanted him as much as he had wanted her.

"Really." Tom watched as Simms grinned and flew out of the holodeck as if doing an impression of Hermes. The pilot shook his head. Had he ever been that young? Sometimes he didn't think so. He sighed, then slapped his commbadge. "Computer, location of Crewman Shadow?"

"Crewman Shadow is in her quarters," the bland voice replied.

"Is Crewman Shadow alone? Who's with her?"

"Please restate a single question."

Paris sighed his exasperation with the computer's single-mindedness. "Is Crewman Shadow alone?"

"No."

Tom frowned. "Computer, list all occupants of Crewman Shadow's quarters."

"Crewman Malista Shadow and Ensign Harry Kim."

Tom thought for a moment. He didn't want to interrupt anything. "Computer, notify me when Crewman Shadow leaves her quarters."

"Confirmed."

The pilot proceeded to Holodeck Two to run his flight sims. Simulations were exciting and challenging---without risking death or injury to others in case something didn't go as planned. He loved increasing the level of difficulty. Most of the time when he got to do any challenging piloting, there was too much going on to really take time to enjoy the thrill of it. This was going to be fun!

****************

Malista Shadow was no more than five feet from the door to her quarters when her commbadge signaled.

"Paris to Shadow."

She froze for a moment. It was almost 0100. Why would Tom be calling her now? An emergency? "Shadow here," she replied cautiously.

"Malista, come to Holodeck One, will you?" He didn't seem upset.

"Why? It's late, Tom. I was just going to bed," she said and tried to do a convincing yawn.

"Really? And where were you going to sleep? I know you're not in your quarters," he stated flatly. "Or Harry's."

She didn't have an answer. "I'll be right there." She turned back to her cabin to leave her toolkit before making her way to the holodeck.

Sandrine's was running. The holodeck characters were the only ones keeping Tom Paris company. He was sitting at the piano, idly picking out a tune when she came in. He took one look at her face and knew her shields were up---full strength.

There was no point in a frontal assault. He'd have to find another approach. Maybe a sneak attack? A flanking maneuver?

"Malista, come look at this," he invited, keeping his tone light and pretending there was nothing unusual about his summoning her to the holodeck in what was essentially the wee hours of the morning for them. He gestured to the sheet music on the piano.

She approached slowly and seated herself on the bench next to him. "I thought you didn't read music," she commented as she scanned the sheet.

"I don't. The Delaneys played the recording of the music for me. I learned it by ear. The sheet music is so I can learn the words. You want to try it?" he asked casually. He began to play.

She listened, following the up and down pattern of the notes on the music to give her eyes something to focus on. She didn't read music either. She would have said she 'read at' music. She began to hum the tune. Malista frowned as she read the words. "What is this, Tom?"

He smiled wryly. "It's from a musical play. Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella."

"Cinderella? The fairy tale? What are you doing with this? And why would the Delaneys---"

Tom paused and grinned at her. "Actually---"

"Oh, no," she said quickly.

"What?" he replied with faux innocence.

"They want *you* to sing it with them?" Hopefully.

He shook his head, still grinning.

"Then I don't---" She broke off at the glint in his blue eyes.

He nodded.

"Oh, no," she repeated.

Paris turned his attention back to the keys and started playing once more.

"I don't sing in public."

He slid a sidelong glance at her.

"I don't," she said more emphatically. "I do *not* sing in public."

He kept playing. "This is where you come in."

"Except I'm not going to." The tune was catchy. She knew she'd be humming it for days. "I won't sing at one of Harry's concerts either."

He said nothing. He kept playing.

After a few moments, she said. "Tom."

He turned his head. "Yes, Malista?"

"Why? Why Cinderella?"

He grinned once more. "I was waiting for you to ask."

She swatted his arm lightly. "So tell me."

"It seems the members of Voyager Drama Company want to try their hand at a musical. This is one of the simplest to produce. And the music is surprisingly easy to sing," he added. "IF you have a voice---and an ear."

"I don't sing in public," she reiterated.

"You said that."

"I got the feeling you weren't listening," she replied tartly.

Tom winked at her. "Gosh, Malista, you don't think they're offering you the lead, do you? What an ego!"

She frowned. "That song is Cinderella's. If they aren't offering me the lead, why are you bothering me with this?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Have you ever heard the Delaneys sing?"

Her frown deepened at the apparent non sequitur. "No, not really. Well, sort of. But we were all so drunk at the time---"

"The blue stuff?"

"Yeah." She winced as she remembered the aftereffects of the alien hard liquor from a planet called Dynos Six. "My first and last drunk. So what about the Delaneys and their singing?"

Tom considered his words. "Let's just say---you don't want to hear them sing when you're sober."

"What?" She chuckled. "They can't be that bad."

Paris rounded his eyes. "Oh, yeah, they can. I mean, they start out all right, but then they sort of---lose the tune? Or maybe it's that they change keys----without warning. And singing is one of the few things they *don't* seem to do in unison. Unfortunately."

"And they want to do a *musical*?"

Tom threw his hands in the air then dropped them to his knees. "The way they explain it---it almost starts to make sense."

Malista half smiled. She'd begun to relax, intrigued by the twins' latest ploy to relieve the tedium of the voyage home. "I can't wait to hear this."

"They want to play Cinderella. Both of them," he added to forestall her next question. "It's supposed to save time for costume changes. Jenny will play the peasant Cinderella and Megan will play Cinderella at the ball. Or vice-versa. I think they're still fighting that one out."

Malista bit her lip. She could almost hear that argument raging. "They want to play the lead in a musical, but neither of them can sing?"

"Their latest brainstorm is that you'll stand backstage and sing and they'll be in front of the audience lip-synching." Tom tried to hide his own amusement and make the sisters' argument sound convincing.

"Why not use a recording?" she inquired skeptically.

"You know, that's just what I said," Paris replied with exaggerated sweetness. "They said it would be more authentic to have live music."

"More *authentic*? When they're *pretending* to sing?" Shadow gasped, trying not to succumb to hilarity. "Are they planning on keeping this a secret?"

"I think that's the idea," Tom sniggered. "And guess who they want to play Prince Charming's part?"

Malista's smile widened. "You? I told you that you looked like a prince in a fairy tale!" she crowed.

"Uh-huh. But I'm not going to do it! And since I wouldn't agree to *play* the prince, I'll be singing for---Freddie Bristow."

Shadow began to giggle. "Freddie? Do they realize that the one who plays Cinderella at the ball has to kiss him?"

Paris raised one eyebrow. "That may be another reason why they're still arguing over who will play which part," he said thoughtfully.

"Why can't he sing for himself?"

"Totally tone-deaf. Couldn't carry a tune with an antigrav unit." Paris began to laugh.

She joined him for a moment. As her giggles subsided, she shook her head. "I can't believe those two. Are you going to do it?"

Tom waggled his eyebrows at her. "That depends on you, Sis."

"Why?"

"I told them I would---if you would."

She punched his shoulder, less lightly this time. "You rat! You know they'll be positively pestiferous until I agree to do it."

"And no one can be more persistent than those redheads," Tom agreed amiably. "Besides it's partly your fault. You're the one who called them off before Jenny got to implement her full plan to get revenge on George Natwick. All the synergy of scheming and plotting had to be invested in something. Just be grateful it's something as harmless as performing in a play. Pardon me, a 'musical' play."

"Do they really think they can keep my singing for them a secret?" She couldn't believe that anyone would seriously believe a secret of that nature could be kept private on a ship as small as Voyager, especially during a performance.

"Naw. They don't care. They've dragged me into listening to the score of every musical they've ever fantasized about performing. Now they've made up their minds and want to do this play in the worst way. And heaven help anyone who interferes! I think it's a childhood fantasy or something." Tom began to play once more. "So you might as well give in gracefully right now and learn the songs."

"Songs? How many?"

"Four. They cut one for the sake of time. Come on, try this one!"

After a couple of false starts, the two of them managed a satisfactory duet performance of 'Ten Minutes Ago', the waltz number from the scene in the ballroom.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Tom stated. "It's easily in your range and it's catchy."

"I still don't think it will work," Shadow complained, then was caught off guard by a tremendous yawn.

"You've lost weight. You have circles under your eyes. You have to be on duty in less than six hours. Sis, why aren't you sleeping?" he asked gently.

"Why aren't you?" she asked defensively.

Tom shrugged and played a sad sounding tune. "I'm worried about you."

Her eyes dropped. "I'm okay."

"I want you to be better than okay," he said, gently tugging on her wrist and bringing her into the circle of his arms for a hug.

She leaned into him for a moment, then straightened, keeping his arm on her shoulder as she began toying with his long, slender fingers.

"You want to talk about it?" Tom asked. His free hand tinkered with the piano keys.

"What?"

"Malista," he growled warningly.

"Talking about it won't help," she retorted.

"How do you know until you try it?" Paris replied reasonably. His eyes were sincere and tender. He'd dropped his mask of unconcern for her.

She felt something cold that had taken up residence in her heart begin to melt in the blue hot warmth of those eyes. She missed her older brothers fiercely. She was so glad Tom had adopted her. "Talking can't change facts, Tom. It can't change the past. But thank you...for caring."

Tom scowled at her. "Come on, Malista. Don't shut me out! It might help. Talk to me."

"How am I supposed to handle my own problems, when every time I turn around you're looming over my shoulder? I don't want you getting in trouble because of me."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Tom, I know you. If I tell you that someone hurt my feelings, you're going to want to do something about it!"

"And what's wrong with that?" he demanded.

"Sometimes you'll just make the situation worse. There are some things I need to work out. I need to learn how to stand up for myself. Not hide behind you or Harry---as tempting as that thought might be."

Paris frowned and stuck his lower lip out in a dramatic pout. "Why not?"

"Because I said so," she said, glowering at him.

"Is there anything I *can* help you with?!" he exclaimed with some exasperation.

She eyed him askance for a moment. "Maybe. You have a lot of experience with women, don't you?"

He stiffened, then consciously forced himself to relax. She wasn't being judgmental. She must have a reason for asking. "I wouldn't say 'a lot', but I have some experience. Why?" He wasn't sure why it felt funny to tell her even that much.

She sighed. "I'm worried about---sex." She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye to read his reaction.

Tom blinked. "Oh. Uh....what about it?" He looked so discomfited she almost felt like giggling.

"Harry and I haven't---you know. We've been working up to it---in stages," she reported reluctantly.

"Malista!" Tom interrupted, his eyes widening as he suddenly recognized why he felt so uncomfortable in this discussion. "I don't think I can talk to you about this. About almost anything else---but not this."

She stared at him blankly. She'd become accustomed to talking to him about all kinds of disquieting topics. He'd always helped her. It had never been a problem before. "Why not?" She was too surprised to feel hurt or rejected.

"You're my *sister*!" Tom exclaimed. "It's just way too weird! I can't talk with you about---*sex*! "

With the emphasis he gave the word, Malista half expected him to spell it rather than say it. She stared at him with a befuddled frown. "Tom, you *do* remember," she asked, "that I'm *not* actually your sister?"

His jaw dropped for a split second, but he recovered quickly. "Of course," he replied nonchalantly as he regained his composure. "I remember that."

She didn't believe him. She bit her upper lip to prevent a smile from breaking free. "Are you sure?"

Paris winked at her. "Brat! Stop picking on me. Come on. Tell me the problem. Just don't get too---specific, okay?" He shook his head. He couldn't believe the situations he got himself into. The Paris luck?

She ducked her head. "I wasn't planning to. It's just---I want Harry. Really, I do. And he wants me. I think. No, I know he does." She blushed as she thought of the evidence he had given that led her to that conclusion.

"So what's the problem?" Paris paused. When she didn't respond, he ventured a guess. "Huldon III?" She nodded mutely. "Are you having flashbacks?"

"N-no," she stammered. "Not exactly."

"Then what?"

"It's just that when we get to---this is embarrassing. Don't look at me," she commanded.

"Yes, ma'am." He obediently turned his gaze to the piano keys and concentrated on trying not to say anything stupid that might drive her back into her shell.

"Well, we start kissing and, uh...." She stopped to clear her throat. "But when we get to a certain point....uh..."

"What point would that be?" Tom inquired, sneaking a peek at her.

She glowered at him, caught between anger and self-consciousness. "At the point when articles of clothing start getting in the way," she muttered.

"Oh. Go on." Paris tried not to let his imagination supply any unwanted details. For a moment he honestly had forgotten that she wasn't his younger sister and the idea of her with a man---even if the man was Harry--- He refused to think about it. It made him uneasy. He knew too much about almost everything that could go right or wrong in a relationship. Being a reformed rake was hell on the nerves.

"Well, about the time we reach that point, I---freeze up. No matter how hard I try to stay relaxed and, uh, focused---I freeze up. And Harry notices---"

"I should hope he would!" Paris said indignantly.

"Tom! I can't tell you about this if you're going to---"

"All right! All right!" he said placatingly. "I'll shut up. So you freeze up and then?"

"And then---we stop," she said, sounding disappointed and confused. "I tried to tell Harry we should turn off the lights and---just do it! But he wouldn't listen to me!"

"Malista!" He was shocked. He knew she was inexperienced, but hadn't expected this level of naiveté.

Her face turned sullen. "I told him I didn't mind. I expect a little physical pain---or at least---I don't know. I guess I'm a little scared. But I'm tougher than I look. I can stand pain. I'm not afraid of that. Why can't we just----do it and get the first time over with? I'm sure it would be better after that. I guess. Wouldn't it?"

Tom's hands flew to the sides of his head, the heels of his hands pressed to his temples. He rocked back and forth on the bench as he tried to come up with something constructive to say. When he thought he finally had a grip on himself, he began cautiously, "Malista?"

She was frowning resentfully at his histrionics.

"Malista, what did Harry say when you told him to---uh, just---whether you were ready or not?"

"He said that maybe I could handle the pain or fear, but he couldn't handle *causing* me pain or fear," she replied softly. She felt a lone tear trickle down her cheek.

Tom sighed his relief. He hadn't underestimated his best friend. He untangled his fingers from hers and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Malista, maybe you're trying to move ahead too quickly---"

"That's what Harry said. Harry says we should take our time. But, Tom, I don't *want* to take too much time," she moaned. "I'm afraid----"

His arm encircled her shoulders once more. "Afraid of what, Sis?"

"I'm more afraid of losing him---than of sex," she mumbled.

He shook her. "You're not going to lose him. Why should you?"

"Because men want---he wants---if I can't---what if I can't *ever*---"

Tom cupped her chin in his palm and turned her face up to his. "Malista, you're scaring yourself for no reason. You're rushing things. You're still recovering from a traumatic---"

"How long will I be recovering, Tom? It happened five years ago. When will I ever be normal?" she begged, her tears overflowing and spilling down her cheeks.

Paris could feel his own eyes filling. "I don't know, Sis. I can't answer that one. But you're working on it and you're getting better every day. Remember, your feelings were on pause for most of those five years. You weren't dealing with the problem then. You were just hiding from it. Recovery takes time. Give yourself some. You can wait to have sex---make love until the time is right for you. There's no rush."

"But Harry---"

"Harry will wait," Tom stated calmly. "If I know Harry Kim, he doesn't want to have sex with you. He wants to make love with you. There's a difference. Believe me, I know. But you only get *one chance* at a first time. And to make love---both people have to want it---not just be willing to endure it. When the time is right for you---you'll know. And so will Harry."

Her green eyes mirrored her confusion and a desperate hope to believe he was right. "It may take---months," she gulped. "How many cold showers can he stand? How long will he wait?"

"As long as it takes," Harry Kim said slowly and emphatically as he came to stand beside her. His hand cupped her cheek as she gazed up at him with wide eyes. His dark eyes captured hers, sending a message of love and understanding as clearly as if he'd written it on the wall. "I have a high tolerance for cold showers. It's a well-known Kim family trait."

She blinked back her tears and smiled lovingly up at him.

"How long---" Tom began grouchily.

"I came in about the time you remembered she wasn't really your sister," Harry taunted, his dark eyes never leaving Shadow's. "I thought you were doing pretty well, so I let you handle it."

"Thanks a lot," his friend muttered, the blue eyes promising retribution at some later date.

"Harry, I---" She stopped, at a loss for words, and bit her lower lip.

"Stop that. It makes it harder for me to kiss you properly without hurting you," Kim protested gently, using his thumb to lightly pull her lip free of her teeth.

She moved out of Tom's light embrace and got to her feet. Harry pulled her into his arms. "Oh, Harry. I'm sorry. I should have talked to you---" She wrapped herself around him.

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to your brother," Harry murmured. "I understand that."

"Actually, Tom ambushed me," she said, sending an accusing look over her shoulder at her 'brother'. "Or I wouldn't have talked to him either!"

"Yeah? He's good at that. Come on, Legs. Let's get you back to your quarters. We all have to be on duty tomorrow---oops! Later this morning," he corrected.

"Legs?" she echoed.

"Legs?" Tom questioned sardonically, as much to relieve the tension as to tease them.

"Legs," Harry repeated. He directed his eyes to Shadow's long, shapely legs.

She pulled away from his hug and frowned at him with mock anger. "I do not want a nickname that comes from a body part!"

They bickered amiably on the subject of nicknames as they left.

Paris shut down the program and started for his own quarters, smiling tiredly. A thought struck him. 'I never did ask her why she was working two shifts again. Oh, well. I'll get to that some other time. And how the hell did Harry know where to find us? Shouldn't he be asleep by now? Doesn't anybody on this ship ever behave the way you expect them to?'

*******************

"Carey to Lt. Torres."

B'Elanna took her attention away from the warp core console to answer the hail. "Torres here. Go ahead."

"Lieutenant, did you say you wanted the navigational systems on the Cochrane repaired?"

"Yes. They were damaged on the last away mission. Why? Is there a problem?" she snapped impatiently.

"No, not exactly," Carey replied. "It's just that the work's already been done. And the anodyne relays in Shuttlebay Two have already been repaired as well." He had been assigned to those two projects as soon as his shift had begun.

"Just a second." B'Elanna got the padd containing her prioritized list of repairs and checked it. "Joe, I don't understand it. I only made this list yesterday! It can't possibly be outdated. Okay, never mind. I must have forgotten I gave that assignment to someone else. Neelix is reporting a problem with environmental controls in the messhall. Go check that out then report back here."

"Acknowledged."

B'Elanna studied the padd with a scowl. She was usually so organized, but this had happened more than once lately. There must be a better way of keeping track of the completed repairs. She'd revamped her record-keeping system a week ago, but the problem persisted.

Malista Shadow passed her through her field of vision. B'Elanna's eyes narrowed in suspicion that quickly became a certainty. "Shadow!" she called.

Malista came to stand in front of her, gazing down at the chief engineer. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Torres studied her carefully. "If you're going to work overtime, Crewman Shadow, I expect you to file reports on assignments completed. Promptly."

Shadow's eyes darted away for a moment then returned to meet B'Elanna's gaze with a shuttered expression. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?"

"And you should," Torres agreed. "I don't appreciate your failure to update the repair log. You're supposed to note the time and date you complete the work, Crewman. It allows the computer to keep track of the need for routine maintenance and schedule it at appropriate intervals."

Shadow didn't speak. Anything she said would be tantamount to a confession ---or a denial. And she didn't want to lie to her superior officer---not to mention to her friend, B'Elanna Torres. She swallowed hard and waited. She didn't know how Torres would react to her flagrant disregard of the captain's orders that she was only to work one shift. She certainly didn't want to have to face the captain again on the same issue either. This time she'd be all alone. Last time, at least Niko had been there to lend silent support as she faced the captain's reprimand.

B'Elanna's regard softened. She was becoming adept at reading the emotions behind the mask. Becoming closer to Tom Paris had taught her that necessary skill. "Malista, I'm not angry---exactly. Other than making me think I was losing my mind, there's been no harm done. Your work has always been excellent."

Shadow cleared her throat. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"However," Torres added before the taller woman could relax. "I don't want this to happen again. If you're having trouble sleeping, find another solution. If you're bored---maybe I can help with that."

Malista smiled tentatively. "I wouldn't exactly say being bored was the problem."

"I heard you got some workout programs from Ensign Natwick," Torres said. "I could use a good workout. You want a partner?"

Shadow's smile widened. "Yes, ma'am. I haven't tried any of them yet."

"Fine. The captain wants the Engineering staff to enjoy some time off on a rotating basis. Let's make that a date. Tomorrow? Around 1400?"

Malista nodded her head in agreement.

"And Malista? Next time you repair something---enter it in the log. And you only work your assigned shift. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am. Uh..."

B'Elanna looked up at her.

"There may be a few more things I should log, Lieutenant," Malista said. She reached past Torres and started marking off the other assignments she'd 'unofficially' handled. It was quite a list.

**********************

Ensign George Natwick was sitting alone at a table in the messhall when Sue Nicoletti and Malista Shadow approached him, trays in hand.

"May we join you, George?"

He looked wary, but nodded. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence as they settled in and prepared themselves for a brave undertaking---eating Neelix's valinck tuber casserole, a greenish-brown substance with an unappealing gelatinous consistency.

Malista poked her portion gingerly with a fork. It quivered. She wrinkled her nose and shuddered.

"The good news is: it didn't crawl off the plate," Natwick summarized sardonically.

Malista glanced up to find his brown eyes studying her dubious expression with a hint of amusement. She hesitantly smiled. "If that's the good news...."

"You don't want to know." He returned her smile with one of his own. It changed and softened his somewhat menacing appearance.

Sue Nicoletti cleared her throat. Both pairs of eyes darted toward her. "George, we wanted to talk to you. Clear up a misunderstanding." She looked significantly at Malista, hoping the younger woman would remember her lines.

"Uh, yes. George, somehow a rumor got started that I was going to---uh----"

All amusement faded from his face. "Get even with me?"

Malista nodded quickly. "I'm not. I wanted you to know that. I didn't break into your quarters either. I heard someone say you thought I had. I also heard that you were---"

"Anticipating an attack?" he supplied expressionlessly.

She winced. "Yes. I'm sorry. I was angry at you---for hitting Harry. But I should never have let---anyone think I was going to do something. I didn't mean to make you---"

"Paranoid?" Again he finished her sentence. "Don't worry about it, Malista. Security Officers are frequently paranoid to some degree or another. So? Friends?" He extended his hand.

She smiled with relief, grasped his hand and shook it. His eyes met hers intently as if he was trying to read her thoughts. He didn't release her hand. His thumb caressed the palm of her hand.

"Sickbay to Crewman Shadow."

Malista gently tugged her hand free and slapped her commbadge. "Shadow here."

The EMH's voice came through the commsystem. "Crewman, if you're free, please come to Sickbay. I have an opportunity for you to practice your healing skills."

"I'll be right there." Smiling regretfully at Sue and George, she got to her feet. She made a move to pick up her tray, but Sue waved her away. Malista walked briskly out the door, accompanied by Crewman Gerron Tem, who had, coincidentally, just finished his lunch and felt the need to go to Deck Five.

Natwick's eyes followed her until she was out of sight.

"You've got it bad," Nicoletti commented neutrally.

The ensign jumped as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Sorry?"

"George, she's in love with Harry Kim. I don't think that's going to go away any time soon."

The big man flushed. He fixed his gaze on his lunch. "I don't get it. Why *him*?"

She sighed. "I don't know. He's attractive, I suppose. Though I've always thought of him more as brother material myself."

Natwick looked at Nicoletti carefully, as if seeing her for the first time. "There's no accounting for tastes, I guess. If it weren't for Kim, I might have---no, maybe not. I've never been good at relationships."

"Maybe you never tried one with the right person?" Sue suggested, flirting with her hazel eyes. It might be too soon, but then again, why not plant a seed?

"Maybe." Natwick smiled.

**********************

"Ms. Shadow, do you have some scientific rationale that leads you to believe that protruding the tip of your tongue out of the corner of your mouth will in some manner facilitate the healing process or increase your efficiency?" the doctor asked curiously.

Malista smiled and quickly withdrew the offending member. "No, Doctor. It's a habit. I always wind up sticking my tongue out when I concentrate. Or biting my lower lip."

The doctor nodded sagely. "I will note that under nervous habits in my aberrant behavior index."

Joe Carey snorted. "If that's your idea of aberrant behavior, you need to get out more, Doc." He shook his head and smiled his thanks at Malista as she put the last touches on healing the cut on his hand with the dermal regenerator.

The doctor checked her work and gave Carey his dismissal. The engineer jumped down off the biobed and departed to finish the job he'd started in Engineering.

"You're doing very well, Ms. Shadow. You learn quickly. I also noticed you have a light touch."

"Thank you, Doctor." She hesitated as she turned toward the exit.

"Was there something else?" The doctor's study of human behavior and habits had included extensive research on nonverbal clues. He had deemed this necessary since the members of this particular crew seemed reluctant to ask for his help in a direct manner. In fact, for some reason he found unfathomable many of them seemed to do their best to avoid him altogether.

"If you have some time, I'd like to talk to you---about something personal," she said, casting a nervous glance at the floor.

"Of course. Step into my office, Ms. Shadow."

"Could you call me Malista?" she requested as they seated themselves on opposite sides of his desk.

He was gratified by the request. He was not on a first name basis with many of the crewmembers. "Malista, what did you wish to discuss?"

"Doctor, what do you know about treating the traumatic effects of rape?"

The doctor was clearing his desk as he spoke. "As you may know, I am programmed with information from two thousand medical reference source materials, as well as with the experience of forty-seven Starfleet medical officers. I am certain that I can answer any question you may have---Malista." When she didn't speak, he raised his eyes.

As he watched, a single tear trickled down the young woman's cheek. Since he had been activated, he could not recall seeing such a desolate expression in the eyes of any crewmember. He was swiftly reminded that she was not asking about an objective case study. She was asking for help with a personal tragedy. Her mouth worked as she tried to formulate words. She couldn't. Another tear fell. Then another. She impatiently dashed the tears away with her fingertips.

"Malista," the doctor sputtered, "I apologize. I don't mean to sound callous or indifferent. I've never been asked to deal with this particular problem---and I will admit that bedside manner is not my greatest strength. If you'd prefer to talk to Kes---"

"No! It's all right. I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she said, angry with herself.

"You have every reason to cry," the doctor corrected in a softer voice. "You have been injured. It is an injury that can't be healed instantaneously. I am sorry."

The tears were rolling freely down her cheeks now. "I don't think I ever cried about this before," she sighed, her voice strangled. "I mean, it's not like it does any good."

The Doctor came around his desk and supplied her with a box of tissues. With some hesitancy, he brought his hand up and awkwardly patted her shoulder. Studies showed that such contact was perceived as supportive and comforting in situations of stress.

He was so obviously uncomfortable in dealing with a crying woman, Malista almost found it in herself to feel amused. She took a deep breath and managed to shut off the flow of tears. She reached up and captured his hand, rubbing it lightly across her cheek. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. Any time," the doctor said, regaining his seat and leaning forward, elbows on his desk. He arranged his features in what he hoped was a sympathetic countenance. "Are you ready to talk about it now?"

She blew her nose and cleared her throat. "I think so."

**********************

Malista was on her way from Sickbay back to Engineering. For the first time in a long time, she was alone. The corridors were deserted. She stepped into the turbolift.

Crewman Paul Castelle was the only occupant. He was going to Deck Fourteen.

She almost stepped right back out again. He grinned at her insolently, making a mockingly inviting gesture with his hands. Holding her head up high, she moved to the far side of the turbolift, as far away from him as she could manage and said, "Deck Eleven."

The turbolift began to move.

"Still playing hard to get?" His voice was challenging, provoking. "No one believes that game, Shadow. Everyone knows you're dividing your time between Paris and Kim---and now maybe Gerron? You must be something really special. What do I have to do to get on your list?"

She swallowed hard. "Leave me alone." It wasn't said with much conviction, but it was all she could manage to say around the solid lump that seemed to have materialized in her throat. She dropped her eyes and stared at her boots, but watched him using her peripheral vision, alert for any move towards her.

His eyes roving over her with undisguised lust, he opened his mouth to say something else, but the lift doors slid open at that moment.

Head down, she stepped out and quickly started walking away. She plowed right into someone coming the other way. Her eyes flew up as she bounced off a massive chest and tumbled backwards.

It was Ensign George Natwick. With the quicksilver reflexes of a Caldorian cougar, he pounced forward, catching her upper arms, and pulling her upright again. He set her on her feet, holding on until she regained her balance. He was frowning with misgiving as he noticed her distraction and her pallor. "Malista, are you all right?"

"George," she breathed his name, as if relieved to recognize him. She almost achieved a smile before her lips began to tremble. She bit down on her lower lip to force it into stillness. Without conscious thought, her eyes darted apprehensively over her shoulder in the direction of the turbolift.

"Are you all right?" he repeated, slowly releasing her arms. He wasn't sure how steady on her feet she actually was. She didn't look good. Her color was off and she looked on edge---as if any sudden movement might startle her into headlong flight.

With an effort that was visible, she resumed her air of calm control. "I'm fine," she said, with a nervous, unconvincing smile. "Excuse me." She stepped past him and moved away on slightly unsteady legs.

Natwick's face was shuttered as he tried to fit the puzzle pieces together. She looked positively traumatized. If Harry Kim was playing games with Malista again---He slapped his commbadge. "Computer, identify the occupants of turbolift one, during its last stop on Deck Eleven."

"The occupants of turbolift one were Crewman Malista Shadow and Crewman Paul Castelle," the bland voice replied.

Natwick pushed the call button for the turbolift as he mulled that over. His expression was not pleasant.

**********************

Harry Kim was working in the ship's library doing research on the type of energy signature emitted by the probes to see if it correlated with any information they'd been given by any of the races they'd encountered. He wasn't sure why, but he'd become aware that Diane Russell, the ship's librarian, was eyeing him with a frown of disapproval which disconcerted him. It was rather like being glared at by a cute, fluffy, blonde kitten. She was normally shy, but not unfriendly.

Kim tried a polite smile as she brought him the padd he'd requested.

She didn't return it. "Is that all you need, Ensign?" Her tone was totally cool and professional.

With a bemused expression, Harry nodded and returned his attention to the task before him. Approximately an hour later, he put the padd down. He was getting nowhere---at the speed of light. There was no correlation he could find. He stood and stretched, stifling a yawn behind his hand. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to identify its source.

Russell was sitting behind her desk working on her computer terminal. She flickered another frowning glance his way, then ignored him.

Harry was mystified. He had almost become accustomed to the looks he was getting from the Maquis crew, but Diane was Starfleet. Then he remembered. Diane was involved with Aron Dalby, who was Maquis. The thought occurred to him that this might be his opportunity to find out why the Maquis were angry with him. Before he could formulate the question, the door slid open and Malista Shadow walked in---accompanied by Crewman Gerron Tem.

It was the first time in weeks that Kim had seen her when she was on duty. He vaguely noticed that she had taken to confining her shoulder length hair in a tightly controlled bun and was wearing no makeup, but he was most disconcerted by the restrained expression she wore. He wondered if she and Gerron had been arguing just before their entrance. Gerron's demeanor was unfriendly, bordering on hostile, as he recognized the Operations Officer.

In the split second that it took for Malista to become aware of Harry's presence in the library, her whole attitude changed. At the sight of him, her eyes lit up, her rigid posture eased, and her free hand reached for his in a manner that spoke of a familiar custom and absolutely no fear of rejection. "Harry."

He couldn't resist. Ignoring Russell and Gerron, he took her hand and leaned in for a quick kiss. "You won't report us for a PDA, will you, Diane?" Kim joked. He and Tom had made a running gag out of referring to that particular regulation---and breaking it, or at least pushing it to the limit, as often as possible.

He looked at the librarian in time to catch a quick exchange of glances between her and Gerron. The ensign looked at the Bajoran. His mood seemed to have improved as well. Kim didn't understand it, but he didn't really care that much about either of them or their mood swings. He turned his attention back to Crewman Shadow, who was still holding his hand. He hadn't expected to see her for hours. Their paths usually didn't cross while on duty. This was a pleasant surprise.

"Harry, you wouldn't believe---the doctor called me to Sickbay and let me use the dermal regenerator on Joe Carey. He cut his hand on an access panel. Doc said I did an excellent job. He says I have a light touch and I'm a quick study." She sounded positively thrilled with the compliment.

"He's right, but I could have told you that." He smiled at her proudly and then added, "I'm glad I ran into you. I was going to leave a message on your terminal."

"Why?" Malista asked. Out of habit, her free hand came up to lovingly brush back the stubborn lock of hair that persisted in falling down in Harry's face.

He grinned and caught her hand, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist briefly as a thank you. "Tom and B'Elanna can't make it to the circus tonight. Something about the navigational deflector acting up again. Do you want to cancel? Or should we practice without them?"

"We'll practice without them. I have a few other tricks to show you. You haven't seen me do my high wire act yet," she said, smiling as he flinched apprehensively.

"I wonder if we should make the safety net bigger?" he muttered thoughtfully.

"Harry!" she wailed plaintively in a rare moment of disagreement with the ensign. "If you make it any bigger, we won't be able to walk around the tent at all!"

"I'd love to see your circus program," Russell remarked unexpectedly.

Malista looked at her blankly. "Really?" She never expected others to share her interests. In fact, she'd been astounded at the way Tom, B'Elanna, and Harry had thrown themselves into participating in the program.

"When I was a little girl, I saw a circus on Kelonius III. I thought it would be a wonderful way of life," she explained. "Would you mind if Aron and I---and Gerron came by to take a look? We wouldn't interfere---"

"Oh, no! That's fine. If you really want to. The four of us are planning to do a trapeze act at the next talent show. Maybe you three could find another act you'd like to perform. Neelix said that maybe we could make it a circus theme if others were interested," Malista said, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds. She was flattered and thrilled that someone else was taking an interest in her favorite program. "About 1900?"

Russell nodded.

Malista's eyes flashed to Gerron. He nodded as well. "Well, I'd better get to work. Which console went out this time, Diane?"

"I'll see you all later then," Harry said and squeezed her hand before he left to resume his post on the bridge.

As she went to work, Malista began to sing happily under her breath, "Ten minutes ago I met you...."

Gerron and Diane Russell regarded at each other thoughtfully.

************************

"I can't believe this." Tom Paris' voice reflected his self-disgust.

Torres sniffed unsympathetically. "I tried to tell you---"

"You know, Torres, it's very annoying when people say 'I told you so'," Tom informed her sourly.

"Given your accident prone nature, Mr. Paris, I would assume you would be quite accustomed to that particular annoyance," the doctor noted acerbically as he passed the dermal regenerator over the helmsman's left arm once more.

"I am *not* accident prone!" he protested acidly. "Was it my fault the hydrospanner slipped---"

"Yes," B'Elanna replied succinctly. "If you'd held it properly---the way I told you---"

"All right," Tom conceded ungraciously. "If I had done it your way, I wouldn't have received a life-threatening injury. Are you happy now?"

The doctor couldn't resist interjecting. "I would hardly call a three inch gash in the musculature of your left forearm life-threatening---"

"Who asked you?" It was obvious Lieutenant Paris was in a petulant mood.

B'Elanna folded her arms and glared at him. "Don't take it out on the doctor because you missed dinner."

The doctor nodded as comprehension came to him. "Ah, low blood sugar---along with the loss of blood---and dignity. That would account for the irritability---"

"I'll show you irritability---" Paris began. He stopped himself and made an effort to control his rising crankiness. B'Elanna was right. The hollow feeling in his midsection probably was a contributing factor to his bad mood. At least there was something he could do about that. "Are we finished here, Doc?" He started to slide off the biobed, but remained seated when the doctor spoke.

"Actually, Mr. Paris, there was a matter I wished to discuss with you," Doc said, with a dismissive look towards Torres. "A confidential matter."

Torres shrugged. "I'll go down to the messhall and see what Neelix still has available. Don't be too long."

As she left the room, the doctor pulled up a stool and sat facing Paris. "Lieutenant, I am aware that since Crewman Shadow's---Malista's attempted suicide, you have been assisting Commander Chakotay with counseling her."

"That's right. What about it?"

"I assume you are still in a position to share confidential information with Commander Chakotay? And you are privy to Malista's---history?" The doctor was working hard on developing 'tact'. Kes had told him resolutely and repeatedly that it was important in perfecting a good bedside manner.

Tom didn't like the direction this was heading. He sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied the doctor's expression. "Yes. Malista gave Chakotay permission to discuss her---treatment with me. And she has told me about her past. Probably more than she's told anyone else. What exactly are you getting at, Doc?"

The doctor had been nodding with each statement the pilot made. "Very well. There was a suggestion of a slight conflict in my programming concerning the ethics of sharing information with a third party concerning a doctor/patient communication. But since you are considered family by the individual involved and she has previously---"

"Doc, get to the point!" Tom snapped impatiently. "What's wrong with Malista?"

The EMH held up a placating hand. "I'm getting to that. Malista asked to speak with me this afternoon. She wanted to get some information about dealing with the traumatic aftereffects of rape."

Paris took a deep breath. He concentrated on breathing for a moment. He was afraid to ask the next question. "Were you able to help her?"

The doctor frowned. "I was able to reassure her that she'd suffered no permanent *physical* damage as a result of---the incident."

"What?! Why didn't she *already* know that?" Tom was angry and confused. "She was raped five years ago!"

The doctor looked mildly disgusted. "Evidently the quality of health care provided by the Maquis was not up to Starfleet standards. Or perhaps the physicians did not take time to reassure Malista at the time. Or if they did, she was suffering from shock and did not understand what was said. Whatever the cause, the result is that she had no real idea to what extent she'd been physically damaged by the Cardassians. She said she'd never asked before because she didn't think it would matter. Now that she and Mr. Kim are---considering intimacy, she decided she had a need to know. She felt comfortable enough with me to inquire into her status---as a potential sexual partner and mother."

"Mother?" Tom gulped.

"I didn't say she was pregnant, Mr. Paris. I merely assured her that there is nothing wrong with her reproductive system. Any physical damage due to trauma was repaired quite efficiently. She is perfectly capable of engaging in sexual activity, becoming pregnant, and bearing children in a normal manner. If she chooses to do so. We also discussed birth control measures."

Tom was beginning to get a headache. "So she's healthy. Now she knows it. That's wonderful. What's the problem, Doc?"

"The physical damage is only part of the equation, Lieutenant," he said with admirable composure.

"Emotionally?"

"Emotionally, I'm afraid, she has refused to give herself permission to deal with the whole issue. She seems to have a pattern of avoidance behavior."

"I've noticed," Paris sighed. "I'm glad she at least felt safe enough with you to ask for information. It's hard for her to trust men, you know. So what do we do about it?"

"I understand her fear of men. In part, it is the result of early indoctrination by her family and the cultural customs with which she was raised. These teachings seem to be the source of some conflict between what she was taught and her personal experience and its effect on her emotions and value system. The fact that I am a holoprogram may have eased her mind. I am completely objective. She seems to fear being harshly judged by subjective standards." The EMH scowled his disapproval of such an attitude.

He returned his gaze to the lieutenant. "As for what 'we' are going to do about this situation, I plan to talk to Commander Chakotay about this. Malista has never given herself permission to feel the emotions she experienced---or should have experienced at the time of the trauma. She repressed her anger, shock, and fear. They are just beginning to surface. Repression and denial seem to be her normal pattern in dealing with her inner conflicts. In fact, I believe she has dealt with the shock and fear to some degree. But there are indications that she has *not* resolved a great deal of anger. Again, because she hasn't given herself permission to get angry. She doesn't seem to feel entitled to her feelings so she has not dealt with them constructively."

"What should I do?" Tom asked worriedly.

"I'm sure the commander will confer with you after I give him my findings. Until then," the doctor said, "Continue to be supportive. Malista appreciates your concern. Her difficulty in dealing with her personal problems has been exacerbated by Voyager's situation in exiling her from her family. You have helped meet her need for a family."

"Is there anything else I need to know? Anything I can do?"

"I don't want to understate the seriousness of the situation, Mr. Paris," the doctor said, wearing his most solemn expression. "She has not dealt with her anger. As you may know, anger that is repressed usually takes one of two forms. Anger turned inward leads to depression, which she has already demonstrated when she attempted suicide. You successfully blocked that path to dealing with her anger. For the time being. But now she has to find another way to release these feelings. If she doesn't find a healthy way to let go of her past, of the trauma..." His voice trailed off, as if he were reluctant to continue.

"What?" Paris demanded. "You said there were two forms of repressed anger?"

The doctor's brow creased in a ferocious frown. "There is a possibility that she could become violent. Subject to fits of temper, possibly murderous rage."

"Not Malista," the pilot said, his jaw clenching as his whole being rejected the idea. "She wouldn't hurt anyone."

"I said it was a possibility, Mr. Paris," said the EMH gently. "Not a certainty. I hope that Malista will find a way to express her anger and let it go. With your help, my help, and that of Mr. Kim and Commander Chakotay. I thought you should be aware of the situation. She needs to give herself permission to feel angry and express that anger. If the opportunity should arise..."

"I understand." Tom got to his feet, and clapped a hand to the EMH's shoulder. "Thanks, Doc. I'll keep you advised and talk to Chakotay as well. I appreciate your help. Let me know if there's anything I can do. Anything at all."

"Why, you're quite welcome, Mr. Paris." The doctor smiled. He'd been practicing his smile in the mirror. It still needed work, but it looked more natural now. Or at least not quite as scary.

As Tom neared the exit, he half turned. "Doc, I noticed you aren't calling her Crewman Shadow. Why is that?"

"She asked me to call her Malista," the EMH replied matter-of-factly.

Tom grinned. "In that case, call me Tom. It's all in the family, you know."

"Thank you, Tom. Good night." The doctor was strangely pleased at the idea of being asked to address members of the crew on a first name basis. It made him believe that he was successfully fitting into the Voyager family. However, it did make deciding on a name for himself more of a priority. He frowned thoughtfully.

Paris went to find B'Elanna. He just hoped for the sake of his stomach and his mood, he could find an appetite again.

************************

Aron Dalby took another glance around the big top. He grinned in affectionate amusement as he caught a glimpse of Gerron's expression. The young Bajoran had never seen a circus and was duly impressed with his surroundings and with the performance of Malista and Harry Kim as he watched them working out high above them on the trapeze.

Diane was watching them as well. "I told you I didn't think she had a problem with Harry."

Aron nodded, slipping his arm around her waist. "I know. But if Kim's not the problem, who is?"

"Whoever it is," Gerron said grimly, "It's a 'Fleeter. We're on the same duty shift and I've managed to be around to escort Malista and check up on her. Every time we pass a 'Fleeter, she tenses up."

Diane's organized librarian mind processed that. "Every time? Every Starfleet crewman?" she prodded.

The young man thought about it. "Just the men."

"All the Starfleet men?"

He tried to remember specifically. "Not Paris. Not Simms. She likes him. Not even Natwick."

"What do you mean she tenses up?"

Gerron looked irritated. "What do you think I mean? She acts like she's expecting to be attacked. Her face gets all closed in. She gets jumpy. Like she thinks they're going to---to grab her?"

Dalby nodded his agreement. "With Malista, it wouldn't necessarily have to be a physical thing. She gets just as panicky if someone goes at her with words if she can't get away from him. Somebody is---was giving her a hard time. But whoever it is---he's a coward---or they are. They've stopped since the Maquis have been keeping our eyes on her. Or at least no one has caught them at it."

"That narrows the field of suspects," Diane said. "Now, how can we find out who's been harassing Malista?"

"What about Simms?" Gerron asked.

"What about him?" Dalby responded.

"He's a Security Officer. He could find out. They may keep records on 'Fleeters who've been reported for---"

"He's a 'Fleeter himself," Dalby objected.

Russell poked him in the chest with her index finger. "So am I. Don't be a bigot, Aron. Ethan is a nice man. Gerron said Malista's not afraid of him. They're friends. She might talk to him."

"So you think we should tell him what's been going on?"

"I'll talk to him if you like. I don't think it would do any harm," Diane suggested.

Dalby reluctantly agreed. "And I'll put the word out to the Maquis to lay off being so obviously protective, but keep their eyes open---and to watch Malista's back. Maybe we can catch them at it---whoever's bothering her."

"Wow!" Gerron exclaimed, his jaw dropping.

The other two followed his gaze in time to see Malista complete a perfect triple somersault and latch onto Harry's forearms in midair.

"I wonder if I could do that," Diane mused aloud. She totally missed Aron's expression of anxiety at the idea of his beloved risking life and limb. He'd faced armed Cardassian troops with less trepidation.

*************

The door signal and the door sliding open occurred almost simultaneously. Tom sat up so abruptly he tumbled off the couch, landing with a thump and an indignant growl.

B'Elanna managed to stay on the couch as she rose to her feet and immediately began tugging her disarranged clothing into proper order.

Harry Kim stood just inside the doorway and blushed. He'd entered these quarters so often in the past without bothering to wait for a reply. It hadn't occurred to him that Paris might not be alone. "I'm sorry, Tom. B'Elanna. I didn't think---I didn't realize it was so late---"

Paris waved away his explanation as he scrambled up and sat down on the edge of the couch. "What's up, Harry?" Knowing his friend, Kim wouldn't have come to his quarters at this hour unless it was urgent.

Kim hesitated, hovering indecisively between staying and leaving.

Torres pushed her hair out of her eyes and made an effort to comb it with her fingers. "Harry! Sit down!" she ordered as she reseated herself on the couch close to Tom's side.

The ensign sank wearily into the armchair facing the couple. "I wanted to talk to you about Malista."

Torres sighed. "Do I need to leave again?" She didn't sound resentful. Just tired. People problems were not her forte. She reached up and finger-combed Tom's hair into a vague semblance of order. He kissed her wrist as it came within range. She slapped his arm reprovingly with a sidelong glance at Harry.

"Not unless you want to," Harry replied. "Maybe you could suggest something."

"What's up, Harry? Did you guys practice without us?"

"Yeah. I just took Malista back to her quarters. I think she's tired enough after that workout to get some sleep tonight." Harry studied his fingertips as if he'd never seen them before.

Torres and Paris exchanged glances, but decided to wait for Harry to tell them what was on his mind.

"Do you know what's going on?" the young man blurted. "She won't talk to me. She pretends everything is fine. But she's losing weight. She hasn't been sleeping. She looks---I don't know---scared? Whenever I'm not with her. And I can't be with her all the time. She won't tell me what's wrong!"

Torres stretched out her hand and patted his arm sympathetically. "Calm down, Harry. I know one reason she wasn't sleeping. She was working two shifts again."

"What?" Paris and Kim said in unison.

Torres rolled her eyes. "Don't you two start talking in tandem. It's bad enough the Delaneys do it all the time. I found out she was working during Gamma shift. She was sneaking a look at the repair list before she went off duty, then prowling around during the third shift working on the assignments. For a while, I thought I was losing my memory. I put a stop to it though. She should be sleeping better now."

Paris was shaking his head in disagreement before she finished. "You treated a symptom, not the problem, B'Ella." He turned his eyes toward Harry. "She hasn't talked to me about this. There's something going on. I don't know what. The doctor said----well, let's just say that he and Chakotay and I are supposed to meet tomorrow to talk about the next step to take to help Malista."

"Tom, what is it? What can I do?" Harry was almost pleading.

Paris started to speak, but obviously thought better of it before the words escaped his lips. He shook his head.

Torres frowned at him. "Tom, give him a hint here. I know you can't tell him what Malista says in her counseling sessions, but surely you can give him a clue!"

The pilot's glance bounced between his two best friends as he considered how much he could say without inflicting injury to one or more of the four of them. "Okay," he said finally. "Harry, one of the problems is that Malista is very insecure. She was anyway, but when you and she started seeing each other, she seemed to be---snapping out of it.

But then---Freddie Bristow happened."

"And I got jealous and threw a fit!" Harry supplied.

"And broke up with her," Torres finished.

"Which made her even more insecure," Paris added.

"But, Tom," Kim protested, "I've apologized for all that. For jumping to conclusions, for hurting her feelings. She's forgiven me. At least, she says she has."

"Harry, if she said it, she meant it. That's not the point," he explained patiently. "The point is that she was beginning to trust you. And you let her down. You accused her of using you. You accused her of chasing other men. Of being unfaithful to you." He shook his head sorrowfully. "You broke her trust in you. I don't mean to make you feel guilty or anything, but it's like she was coming out of her shell and you scared her right back in. Now it's going to be twice as hard for her to break free."

Kim's face paled. "What can I do? How can I make it up to her?"

Torres got to her feet and came to sit on the arm of his chair. She slipped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Starfleet, you didn't do it on purpose. You were feeling insecure yourself---"

"B'Elanna, that's no excuse! I feel like I kicked her when she was already down. Tom, what should I do?"

"Harry, you're doing a lot of things right. You're taking it slow with her. Encouraging her without pushing too much. One thing I've noticed though is that she never wants to disagree with anyone. Especially you. She cares about you. She's afraid of losing you.

She's also afraid of confrontation. She needs to learn that you can disagree with someone without it getting out of hand," Tom suggested. "Let her know that you don't mind if she doesn't always agree with you. Maybe B'Elanna and you and I can role model that for her. We don't always agree, but we don't get mad or abandon our friendship because of it."

"She's always acting like each time she sees me, it's going to be the last time," Harry admitted. "Do you think she really expects I'm going to just walk away? I'm in love with her!"

"Have you told *her* that?" Torres asked. At his blank look, she continued. "She's not a mind reader, Harry. How is she supposed to know what you think if you don't tell her? If she's as insecure as Tom says, she may need to hear it. And hear it often. I think Tom's right." She looked at Paris, her hand going up to stroke his cheek. "You are right. I listened to her today. She does run herself down. I counted at least three times when she called herself 'stupid'."

"She's not stupid," Harry protested.

"I know that. Tom knows that. You know that. But I don't think Malista knows that," Torres replied. "I also noticed that every time someone mentions the words 'Starfleet Academy', she flinches. And sometime soon after that the topic of her 'stupidity'

comes up."

Paris and Kim studied her with something akin to amazement.

Torres shrugged. "I noticed the correlation. Some of the Maquis have kind of a chip on their shoulders about not having attended the Academy. With Malista, it's more like she thinks she'd never have passed the entrance exam. I tried to ask her about it. She won't talk to me either. She's not as comfortable with me as she is with you."

"I've been giving that some thought, too. She's never had a female friend before, B'Ella. Her mother died when she was a kid and she was raised with a father and a herd of older brothers. She's not sure how to relate to women. That's great, isn't it? She doesn't know how to talk to women and she's afraid of men." Paris stifled a yawn. "Harry, you keep on doing what you've been doing. Being yourself. Your kind, supportive self. Don't push her too hard for information. I'll talk to Doc and Chakotay tomorrow and let you know if there's anything else you can do to help. And I'll do some snooping. As many gossips as we have on this ship, you'd think someone could tell me what the real problem is."

"We're going to help Malista, Harry," Torres reassured the young man. "I have an idea or two of my own. She needs to be less passive. Maybe I can help her with that. I'm planning on working out with her in some of Natwick's self-defense exercises in the holodeck."

Kim tried not to let his trepidation show as he protested, "B'Elanna, that might not be such a great idea---"

Torres shrugged. "It can't hurt. She and I might do a little female bonding while we're getting our adrenaline flowing."

Paris and Kim exchanged doubtful glances. "We're in this together, Harry," Tom said. "We'll find a way to help Malista through this. To help both of you."

Harry Kim went to his quarters, his mind greatly relieved. Temporarily.

End of Part One, Trials Four: Shadow's Trials


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two ----- Trials Four: Shadow's Trials: Case Closed

See Part 0ne for Disclaimers, Warnings, etc.

***********************

Tom Paris was seated at a messhall table alone when Harry Kim arrived for dinner. It was the first time in days that the foursome were going to risk Neelix's cooking for the evening meal. It was Tom's idea. He thought Malista needed to get out more socially instead of retreating to her cabin or Harry's.

The ensign frowned slightly as he approached. "Where are Malista and B'Elanna?" He was a few minutes late himself. He'd expected all three of his friends to be waiting for him.

Paris grinned and shrugged carelessly as he set aside the data padd he'd been reading while he waited. "I don't know. I guess they're both late."

Kim's frown deepened as he seated himself. "Strange. Malista is always on time. Wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "Wasn't today the day they were going to try out one of Natwick's battle simulations?"

When the Engineering staff had completed the last of the replacements of a multitude of power couplings, Captain Janeway had authorized extra hours off duty as a reward for all their hard work. B'Elanna Torres and Malista Shadow had decided to use some of their time off to work out together on the holodeck in a combat training exercise.

"Yeah, so? You think they forgot the time?" the lieutenant asked. He'd expected no less. B'Elanna tended to lose track of everything when her interest was engaged---at work or at play.

Harry looked worried. His brow furrowed as he glanced at his chronometer. "That could be it, I guess." He didn't sound very convinced.

"Harry, what's wrong? Surely, you don't think---"

Before Paris could finish the thought, Kim slapped his commbadge. "Computer, location of Crewman Shadow?"

"Crewman Shadow is in Sickbay," came the bland reply.

Kim bolted from his seat and was out the door before Tom could get to his feet. "Harry!" He sank back into his chair, his unruffled demeanor belying a sudden twinge of concern. "B'Elanna would *not* hurt Malista," he muttered under his breath. But it wouldn't hurt to make sure. He slapped his own commbadge. "Computer, location of Lieutenant Torres?"

"Lieutenant Torres is in Engineering."

Now Paris was frowning. Why had she gone back to work after her time off? He hadn't heard of any crisis in her department. She tended to try to bury herself in work when she was upset. Maybe Harry was right. There might be a reason to check up on the two women. He got to his feet and strolled toward the exit.

************

Ignoring the startled glances of his crewmates, Harry Kim was all but running by the time he reached Sickbay and burst through the doorway. He skidded to a halt in a manner more commensurate with Tom Paris' famous last minute entrances than his own more proper Starfleet behavior. His eyes darted quickly around the room, checking each biobed for occupancy.

"Can I help you, Ensign?" the Emergency Medical Hologram inquired sarcastically as he stepped out of his office. "Or did you just stop by to catch your breath before the next leg in the race in which you're obviously participating?"

"Where's Malista? Crewman Shadow?" Kim panted, slightly out of breath.

"Harry?" Malista popped up from behind a console in the surgical bay. "Is something wrong?" She looked perfectly fine, though puzzled by his urgency.

He sighed with relief. "No. It's just the computer said---you were in Sickbay."

"And here she is. What a remarkable coincidence!" the doctor exclaimed. "Now that we've established that we're all here, would we all like to get back to work?"

Kim shot him an impatient glance. "I thought she was hurt. She was working out with Lieutenant Torres today."

The doctor nodded understandingly. "I can see why you might be concerned. However, I am an excellent physician and I believe I can say with some assurance that if Malista had been injured I would have repaired the damage by now. She has been in Sickbay for the last two hours."

Harry's surprised brown eyes flashed back to the young woman. "That was a short workout." It wasn't quite a question.

She didn't meet his eyes, but returned to working on the panel before her. "Yes. We didn't spend a lot of time in the holodeck."

Kim drew nearer, until he faced her from the other side of the console. "What happened?"

She shrugged and recalibrated the spanner she held with great attention to detail before returning it to her kit.

Now he knew something was wrong. He'd had a bad feeling about the whole idea the moment that Torres had mentioned her plan to join Shadow in the training simulation. While Malista and B'Elanna might be friends off duty, their temperaments were very different---almost polar extremes. He had suspected that might cause some problems when Torres had offered to tutor Malista in self-defense, but hadn't been able to talk B'Elanna out of the idea.

When upset, Malista tended to withdraw and become quieter. When B'Elanna was upset, she tended to get aggressive and loud. It was not an ideal teaching situation. Especially not when Torres was Shadow's immediate superior in the chain of command.

"Malista?" Harry said coaxingly, quietly. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She reached down to pick up her tool box and set it atop the console. "I've finished, Doc. That should take care of the glitches in the surgical field projector. I just ran a final diagnostic of the system."

Kim came around to stand beside her and took the heavy case from her hand.

"Harry," she protested, "I can carry it."

"You can," he agreed amiably, but determined to have his way. "But you won't. Not when I'm here to carry it for you." He knew very well that she lugged her heavy toolbox all over the ship during the course of her shift, but his good manners were too ingrained to let her do it in his presence when his hands were empty.

She beamed a smile at him as if he'd just handed her a bouquet of flowers. "Thank you." He'd noticed it before. The smallest courtesy from him pleased her out of all proportion to the deed. For some reason, that worried him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the doctor was making a face. And some people thought he wasn't real? He became more human every moment of his existence in Malista's opinion. "Good night, Doctor. Let me know if you need anything else repaired. And as for my lessons, I've almost finished studying human anatomy and I've been working on learning the emergency procedures. I'll find some time to practice them, I promise."

The doctor smiled at her, pleased with regaining her attention. He was more pleased and pleasantly surprised when she kissed his cheek affectionately as she passed him. That was the second time she had done that. His hand went to his cheek wonderingly as the couple exited. He enjoyed having her as a student. She had the proper respect for his abilities. She was quickly becoming his favorite crewmember----next to Kes, of course. Which reminded him that he wanted to talk to Kes about spending less time in airponics and more time in Sickbay. She was neglecting him---her duties.

Harry was determined to find out what had happened between Malista and B'Elanna. He wasn't going to let a simple misunderstanding get totally out of hand---not this time. Never again.

********************

Paris was approaching Engineering when Torres barreled out of the doorway at full speed---almost ramming speed, but he sidestepped quickly and prevented a collision. "Whoa!" He held up a hand, waving it lazily in her line of sight.

She stopped dead in her tracks and glared at him. "What?!" Her chest was heaving, her breathing labored as if she'd been exerting herself physically.

He raised his eyebrows. "You're late for dinner," he said mildly, trying a polite, friendly smile. Torres automatically labeled it Smile Number Four on the Torres Scale of Paris' Expressions ---polite, friendly, slightly concerned---it reached his eyes, but didn't convey his feelings.

"Don't *start* with me, Paris!" She stormed away, leaving a wake of tension behind her that he could follow like a path back into the Engineering Department. Several faces were staring out at him. Most noticeably Joe Carey, who jerked his head at Paris as if telling him to follow Torres then rolled his eyes heavenward as if making a plea to an unseen deity.

Tom followed, but at a slower pace. His longer legs made it easy for him to trail just behind her, though she was moving more quickly.

They rode the same turbolift to deck six. Still without speaking, she charged off to Holodeck One, where the Sandrine's program was running. He hesitated in the corridor, trying to decide if now was the best time to talk to her, or if she preferred to be left alone.

His decision was made for him when she stuck her head out into the corridor and snapped, "Well? Are you coming or not?" Without waiting for an answer, she ducked back inside and went to find a drink and a table---in that order.

"Thank you for that gracious invitation, Ms. Torres," Paris murmured coolly. Lazily lifting one eyebrow, he ambled toward the entrance. He took it as a good sign that she actually *wanted* to talk to him. Though he'd begun to open up to her more often, it was still a rare occurrence for her to let her guard down with him.

By the time he joined her at 'their' table, she already had their favorite drinks waiting and was drumming her fingers impatiently on the table. Fortunately, except for the ever present holocharacters, the two of them had Sandrine's all to themselves.

He spun the chair around and eased down onto it with his customary grace, resting his folded arms along the top of its back. He put his chin on his forearms and just regarded the chief engineer objectively as he waited for her to speak---or explode. She was seething. He wouldn't have been terribly surprised to hear molten lava was bubbling through her veins. He was amazed there was no steam escaping from her ears.

"What happened?" he asked calmly.

"Harry was right. It was a mistake to try to work out with Malista!" she snapped. "I should have known she'd be hopeless!"

"What happened?" he repeated in the same unruffled tone.

"She wouldn't *fight*!" Torres was outraged. Her tone invited him to enter into her feelings.

Paris frowned. "I thought it was a self-defense program. Isn't fighting the whole purpose of the exercise?"

"Exactly." B'Elanna nodded decisively. "But she wouldn't. She wouldn't attack. All her moves were purely defensive! She kept backing away!"

"I assume you pointed this out to her?" he asked mildly.

B'Elanna got louder. "Yes! She quit! She left the holodeck!! She wouldn't fight back!!!" She waited for his response, eyes narrowed as she tried to read his thoughts.

"Just walked out?" Tom raised an eyebrow. His voice was getting quieter with each rejoinder.

"Yes!" Torres replied indignantly. She found herself lowering the volume of her own voice to match his.

"Didn't argue with you?" Tom's voice was soothing. She didn't remember noticing before how soothing his pleasant tenor was.

"Exactly." Torres' voice had returned to its normal tones.

"Hmmm."

"What's that supposed to mean, Paris?" She sounded accusatory. "Are you taking *her* side?"

Tom batted his blue eyes at her with exaggerated innocence. "Me? Would I do that?" he asked softly.

Torres growled under her breath. "Yes. You would! But you shouldn't! You should have seen her---she wouldn't even fight back at all until she was cornered!"

"Disgraceful," he said, curling his upper lip in scorn. His voice was almost a whisper. A contemptuous whisper.

"Well, it is!" She was gratified that he was finally agreeing with her, but not entirely convinced of his sincerity. She took a long cold drink of her synthale. "What kind of fighter is she? I'd hate to be on an away mission with her. If fighting was called for, she'd go hide behind a tree or something and wait for someone else to do her fighting!"

She knew she was exaggerating wildly as she spoke and waited for Paris to contradict her so she could argue him to a standstill.

"You think she's a coward?" he asked impassively. He seemed genuinely curious to hear her opinion. He wasn't reacting the way she'd expected. It was throwing her off.

"I didn't say that." B'Elanna's temper had cooled to the point that she was aware she was being unfair. "When she fought, she fought well. She just waited too long to start. I'm sure if the danger was a real one, she wouldn't be so hesitant," she temporized.

"I don't understand her! What's the matter with her? After what happened to her on Huldon III, I'd think she'd be full of rage! She should be able to use it! Tap into it to give her strength!"

"Maybe she used up all her rage---when she killed the Cardassians who raped her," Tom ventured cautiously.

B'Elanna shrugged. "She did say she was afraid to fight. Afraid to lose her temper. But when her own life is in danger? That's totally unreasonable! It's irrational!!"

"On the holodeck, she knows in the back of her mind that she's not really in danger. If the safeties are on. She didn't fight back---at all?" Tom inquired, seeking clarification.

"Well," Torres hesitated. "She did help me when I was outnumbered---but if I hadn't been so distracted by her failure to act, I wouldn't have needed her help," she added defensively.

"So she fought for you, but not herself," Paris clarified, looking thoughtful. His left hand went up to tug at his earlobe.

She nodded, not sure what he was getting at. She was surprised to feel relatively serene. Usually when she really lost her temper as she had this time, it would take hours---sometimes days---for her to regain her emotional balance. She stared at Tom as she became aware of the role he'd played. "You sneaky----"

"What did *I* do?" He was all hurt innocence now. His lower lip almost, but not quite, coming forward in a pout.

"I don't know, but when I figure it out I'm going to---"

"B'Elanna, what are you talking about?" Paris straightened, instantly alert. If she was going to take another swing at him, he wanted to be ready to duck. Or grab her. Or something.

She paused for a moment to assess her own condition. "I've calmed down."

"I noticed," he replied. His eyes were solemn, but a hint of a smile teased at the corners of his lips.

"How did you *do* that?" she demanded.

"How did I do what?" he asked. His smile widened.

"Calm me down?!" She sounded outraged.

"I didn't calm you down. You calmed yourself down. You just needed to vent a little. You aren't particularly angry at Malista. You're mostly frustrated because things didn't work out the way you planned and you're not sure why. All I did was listen."

There was something good to be said for being in a relationship with someone less volatile than herself. Now that she thought about it, he really *hadn't* done or said anything manipulative.

"Maybe I'm getting better at controlling my temper?" she speculated, looking to him for confirmation.

"Maybe," he said thoughtfully. "Of course, I didn't actually go into Engineering and conduct a body count---"

She sent him a sour look. "I yelled---but I didn't hit anyone---or anything. This time."

"Very good. Keep it up and I'll nominate you for the Poldax Peace Prize next year," he teased.

"Don't you *dare* make me laugh," she warned. "I'm still furious." She wasn't. It was getting harder every moment to hold onto her irritation.

"*Make* you laugh? Make *you* laugh?" He sounded incredulous. His right hand flew up to cover his heart. "B'Elanna Torres, I am shocked and appalled that you would so misread my character. I would *never* try to 'make you' do anything you didn't want to do! That would violate the very nature of our relationship."

"Shocked?" she repeated skeptically.

"And appalled," he added virtuously, pursing his mouth into a prim look that was totally out of character for the roguish pilot.

Her smile was fighting to get free. "Right."

"So what are you going to do about it?" he inquired after a moment.

"Do about what?" She took another sip of her drink. This time she enjoyed the taste.

"What are you going to do about Malista? Are you two still on speaking terms?" He sighed sorrowfully. "I was just getting used to the four of us being friends again."

"Don't be an idiot! Of course, we're still friends." Pause. "I hope."

"How bad did it get?" he asked with a slight wince.

"She was distracted. She wasn't paying attention. She got killed twice---and it was her fault I was almost killed once! And the sim only ran for thirty minutes." Torres' reply was muffled by the cup in front of her lips. She was disgusted by the defensive whine she could hear creeping into her words. She was gazing at her cup rather than at Tom.

"Oh," he drawled.

That was all he said, but she could tell he was disappointed in her. Of course, if he'd *said* any such thing, she could have argued with him. She decided it was unfair of him not to give her the opportunity to do so. But she magnanimously determined to forgive him anyway.

Blissfully unaware of his good fortune, Paris continued to regard her with raised eyebrows.

"I told her she was acting like a scared teeka cat. And she accused me of being *hostile*!" Torres was incensed as she recalled that moment. In a way, she'd been pleased that Malista had enough intestinal fortitude to lash out at her at all---though she hadn't done it until she was on her way out of the holodeck and had yelled it from a safe distance.

Tom's jaw dropped melodramatically. "You're joking! How could she *say* such a thing!"

Her eyes narrowed and her chin came up. "I am not *hostile*!" she seethed in an extremely hostile manner. It was the same response he'd received from her when he'd dared to accuse her of exactly the same thing on another occasion.

"Of course not!" Tom replied, stretching out his hand to pat her arm. "The entire crew knows that you are the sweetest, most even-tempered, amiable, reasonable----"

She snatched her arm away. "Paris---" she admonished. Her hands clenched.

"Yes, my beloved B'Ella?" He batted his sandy blond eyelashes at her.

"You're laying it on with a cargo loader!" He was so outrageous. He could defuse her anger with a blink of those blue eyes and a flash of those white teeth. Most of the time.

With a scapegrace grin, he said, "I know. Is it working?"

She finally let her own beautiful smile escape. He was absolutely audacious, not even pretending to be ashamed at being caught in the act. "Yes. Keep it up. I need you to flatter me and build up my ego until I can face apologizing to Malista for losing my temper."

"That's my beautiful B'Ella," Tom cooed fawningly. "Did you know that in a poll taken among the ship's crew you were voted Maquis Most Likely To---"

He was interrupted as Harry and Malista walked into Sandrine's. Harry was in the lead, holding Malista's hand and towing her along behind him. She seemed reluctant and her body language screamed that she was trying to minimize herself.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed larger and more determined. His jaw was jutting out. Rather militantly, he approached the table, seated Malista, and pulled out a chair for himself before speaking. "No one is leaving this room until this thing is settled," he declared, tossing a mutinous scowl at B'Elanna as if he expected opposition or resistance from her.

Torres couldn't help but be impressed with his bravery. Malista had been good for Harry Kim. A few months ago, Harry would never have been so confrontational with the half Klingon.

"What thing?" Tom asked, blandly feigning ignorance.

"This thing between Malista and B'Elanna," Harry clarified. "Last time the arguments got way out of hand and we all stopped communicating. This time we're going to talk this out before it becomes a major problem."

"Is that the way you feel, Sis?" Tom asked. He couldn't help thinking of his conversation with the EMH. He wondered if something wasn't simmering just below the surface of Malista's usual icy cool exterior. Something that was bound to blow---sooner or later. He just hoped that when it did, he'd be there to help her. To help Harry pick up the pieces.

She looked up, her green eyes almost pleading. "I'm sorry, B'Elanna," she blurted. "I know I was---"

"*You're* sorry?" Harry yelped indignantly. "She yelled at you!"

"I deserved it," Shadow replied in a shaky voice, trying to mollify him without upsetting Tom or B'Elanna. A problematic task in the best of circumstances and totally impossible at this point in time.

"No, you didn't," Torres said, jumping in just before Harry could say the exact same words. "I'm sorry, Malista. I shouldn't have gotten---" She clenched her teeth and shot a defiant glance at Tom, then at Harry---"hostile."

Tom made a visible effort. He clenched his teeth to refrain from commenting and maintained a straight face.

Harry started to speak, but was stopped by a sudden sharp pain in his shin. Tom had kicked him! His eyes flew toward his friend. Tom extinguished his protest with the ice in his blue eyes and a finger placed vertically on his lips. Harry got the message.

Shut up. Now. This is their problem. Let them handle it.

"I understand. You were frustrated because I'm so inept," Malista replied. She looked miserable---and somehow smaller than usual as if she were drawing herself in---to reduce the size of the target she made as she sat there?

That impression made Torres extremely uncomfortable. She felt like a bully. She didn't like the feeling. "You're not inept," B'Elanna replied, her manner softening. She hadn't thought the younger woman would take the incident so much to heart. B'Elanna wouldn't have. "You weren't fighting back. You don't seem to have any fighting spirit. Didn't you ever get into fights as a kid?"

"No, never," Malista replied, startled at the very idea.

"Never?" Now it was B'Elanna's turn to be astonished. "Why not?"

"Why would I?" It was as if the two women were speaking different languages.

B'Elanna frowned and looked to Tom for help in making her point. He shrugged and remained silent, tossing the hoverball back into her court.

She looked back toward Malista. "Didn't any of the other kids ever call you names? Make fun of you?"

"Yes, but I never got into any fights. My brothers did though. They took care of me---watched out for me," Malista smiled for a moment. The smile faded as she remembered the loss of her older brothers.

"You *never* had to fight for yourself?" Torres said once more. "I was an only child. I was fighting other kids by the time I was five." Tom slipped his arm around her shoulders, lending silent support. She leaned into his touch, unconsciously nestling comfortably against his side.

Malista looked horrified at the thought. "If I'd ever gotten in a fight, my father would have---I would have been in big trouble. I was my father's little princess. Girls were *not* supposed to fight---or do a lot of other things. He had very old fashioned ideas. I never went anywhere without at least two of my brothers escorting me." Harry scooted his chair closer to hers and took her hand in his, stroking her palm.

"At least you had a father around to care," Torres retorted. "Mine left when I was five. That's one reason I got into fights. That---and this." She rubbed her ridged forehead. Tom squeezed her shoulder. She looked up at him smiling weakly.

"I don't know," Shadow said sadly. "It depends on if you think it's worse to have known your father's love for sixteen years---and then have it ripped away from you. When I joined the Maquis, he told me I was a fool. That it wasn't our fight. The Cardassians weren't bothering our colony. I told him I was going anyway to keep the Cardies away from my home. He told me---that as far as he was concerned, he no longer had a daughter."

Torres felt a shock of pity for the other woman. At least she had grown up not expecting anything from her own father. To have it all, and to lose it---that might indeed be more devastating. B'Elanna could only vaguely miss the things she'd never had and wonder what might have been. Malista, on the other hand, knew exactly what she'd lost. "If we get home, maybe he'll have changed his mind---he must have missed you---" B'Elanna offered the only comforting thought she could think of. Tom knew what was coming and braced himself to hear it again.

Malista shook her head. "No. He never changes his mind once it's made up. After---after Huldon III, I called him. I told him what had---what they'd done to me. I begged him to let me come home." Her voice broke. Harry turned her toward him and let her hide her tearful face on his shoulder. She was trembling with the effort to control herself. She hated losing control in front of other people, even her closest friends. This failure to control her emotions was just another failure to add to the long list of her failures she carried in her mind.

Kim finished the story for her. "Her father told her she didn't have a home there any more. That she had chosen the Maquis over her own family so she could stay with them. But like Tom told you, Malista, the Voyager crew is your family now. You belong here. With us. You always will." He stroked and patted her back, holding her tightly until he felt the tension in her body ease.

Torres had to swallow hard to clear the lump from her throat. She'd had no idea. It was no wonder that at one time Shadow had considered suicide to be easier than living in exile. She gulped again. 'Klingons don't cry,' she told herself. 'At least not in front of anyone else.' She gazed up at Tom, communicating with him wordlessly. She didn't know what to say. How to make them all feel better and get them back on solid ground emotionally. That was more in his line of expertise. Her brown eyes sent him a plea for help that he couldn't and wouldn't ignore.

His own azure eyes were suspiciously bright, but his voice was light and smooth as he said, "So you were your father's little princess, as long as you did exactly what he said, right, Sis? Sounds familiar. I, myself, was the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of the Paris Clan. And I said 'Crown Prince', not 'Clown Prince', Torres," he added quickly as if anticipating a smart remark.

Shadow made an effort to pull herself together and sent a sympathetic smile in Tom's direction. For once, Torres was happy to have Paris inject a lighter note. So was Kim.

"The Crown Prince?" queried Harry, obligingly feeding Tom a line to hang his tale on.

"Of course. I haven't told you the Legend of the Paris Patriarch?" He barely waited for Harry's negative answer before beginning to weave his spell, drawing them all in with his body language and the melodic flow of his voice. "Once upon a time, in a quadrant far, far away, there was born the founding father of the Paris family dynasty named Eugene Owen Paris the First. My great-great--I forget how many greats---Grandfather who decreed that every male child of the Paris Dynasty would bear the name Eugene. Unfortunately, for those of us who have to bear it," he muttered discontentedly in a quick aside.

"Having no head for business and no skills whatsoever, Eugene the First made his fortune by letting himself be shot into space as a so-called pilot in experimental ships that were basically computer-controlled. Since he wasn't *entirely* stupid, he made sure he held important patents for certain applications stemming from the test flights he made. Having accumulated vast wealth and power, Eugene, that wise old patriarch, decided that the only possible career path his descendants should be allowed to follow would be one that led them into space exploration."

Paris waggled his eyebrows significantly. "*Deep space* exploration, if at all possible. This allowed him to be a great social benefactor by helping to reduce the surplus population in the Terran System, and had the added benefit of keeping his beloved family members thousands of light-years away from himself and, of course, his fortune as well..."

Malista was caught up in his outrageous story, listening with fascination, a smile teasing at her lips and lighting her emerald eyes. Sometimes she envied Tom his ability to charm and entertain.

"How many generations is this story going to cover before we get to your role?" Kim asked quizzically, pretending to look at his chronometer.

"Harry, Harry, Harry! You interrupted the flow!" Paris rebuked. "This recitation is like an epic poem. It can't be stopped and started. Now I have to begin again from the beginning." He made it sound like a chore, but one which he would welcome as his duty to his family honor.

"No, thank you," Torres said firmly. She placed the fingers of one hand over his lips for emphasis.

The Crown Prince and Heir Apparent of the Paris Dynasty endeavored to look aggrieved.

"I'd like to hear it, Tom," Malista said kindly, patting his hand.

"No, she wouldn't," Harry contradicted. "She's just being polite."

Malista frowned reproachfully at Kim. He grinned at her and reclaimed her hand, tugging it away from Tom's and kissing it before clasping it between his own palms.

His purpose accomplished, Paris was content to let the matter drop. For the most part. He kissed Torres' hand as he captured it in his own. "Maybe we should form our own club?"

"What kind of club?" Harry asked.

"A club for people with lousy fathers. Harry, we don't want you to feel excluded so we'll make you an honorary member. You can be our token person with a *normal* childhood." He ignored Harry's snicker. "Now for a name," Tom rubbed his chin as he contemplated his choices. "How about the Sorry Sires Society?"

Malista tried not to wince.

"The Fraternity of Foul Fathers? Or should it be Federation---Naw, that sounds way too official."

Torres shut her eyes, sighed, and shook her head.

"Despicable Dads Dynasty?"

Harry grabbed his throat and pretended to choke.

"Pathetic Papas Party!"

The trio groaned in unison. "You're getting worse," B'Elanna moaned. "Isn't there any way to get you to give up on this?"

"One way," Paris replied, leering at her cheerfully.

"Later, Helmboy! If I'm not mistaken, and I never am, the four of us should be at the circus practicing right now." Torres stood and pulled him up. "Let's go get changed. We'll meet you in---oh, about fifteen minutes." She started pulling Tom toward the door.

"Fifteen minutes?" Harry called. "You two getting slower in your old age?" Malista simply smiled.

Torres and Paris each smirked as they left Sandrine's. In fact, it was more than thirty minutes before they joined the other couple---and they seemed inordinately smug and self-satisfied when they did so.

************************

Harry looked up from the padd in his hand to give his eyes a rest. So he rested them on Malista, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, her back angled into the corner of the couch as she concentrated fiercely on the padd in her own hand. He could tell she was concentrating because the pink tip of her tongue had made its appearance in the left corner of her mouth. He must have made some sound of amusement because she looked up. "What?"

He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out sideways.

She tossed a pillow at him. "You! Don't make fun of me. The doctor is already threatening to do some kind of case study. He calls it aberrant behavior."

"Aberrant? If he wants to study aberrant behavior, he should talk to Chell. Or Ensign Golwat," Kim scoffed.

She grinned. "I don't think their behavior is clinically defined as aberrant for Bolians. Just for humans."

"Better he than me," the ensign replied, thinking of a particular bit of scandal concerning Chell and his love life with Golwat that was making the rounds of the ship. "What are you reading?"

"First aid procedures for humans. It's hard going from a two-dimensional drawing to a three-dimensional model. I'm having a hard time visualizing what the instructions mean. Maybe I should go to the holodeck and create a holocharacter to practice on?" she asked doubtfully.

"You don't have to do that. Use me."

"What?" She stared at him blankly.

He set his padd down on the end table and stretched out on the couch. "Use me. I volunteer to be your practice partner. I'm tired of reading anyway."

"Harry, do you know what you're letting yourself in for?" she asked timidly.

"No. What?" He didn't seem deterred by her question.

"You get to be a body."

"Well, that works out. I've got a body," he replied genially.

Shaking her head, she came to kneel on the floor next to him. "I mean a dead one---or almost dead. I'm trying to learn to do cardiopulmonary resuscitation manually."

"Manually? Why? Why not just use a cardiostimulator?"

"Harry," she said with exaggerated patience, doing an admirable impression of the Holographic Doctor, "there might not be a cardiostimulator available. What if we were stranded somewhere without access to a medkit or sickbay? The doctor says a good field medic should not be dependent on technology, but be prepared to treat patients in any situation, no matter how primitive."

He made a face, looking properly abashed by the reprimand.

She giggled and stroked his cheek affectionately. "I asked exactly the same thing."

He shook his fist at her.

She kissed it.

His eyes lit. He reached out to pull her closer.

She pushed him flat on the couch again. "Stay still." She consulted the padd, reading intently. "Now, pretend you're unconscious."

He obediently closed his eyes and began to snore---loudly.

She thumped his arm lightly. "I said unconscious---not sleeping."

"Sorry." He didn't sound sorry, and he stifled a smile, but he did stop snoring.

She put the padd down and placed her right hand on his chest. She began feeling around his rib cage. When she strayed too far down his side, he started to laugh. "You're tickling."

"Harry!"

"Okay, okay. What are you looking for?"

"I'm supposed to find the tip of the xiphoid."

Kim opened one brown eye and peered up at her. "The what?"

She gingerly poked his sternum. "I think that's it. It would be easier to tell if you weren't wearing this lumpy shirt." Her fingers traced the raised pattern of the material.

"It's not a *lumpy shirt*," he protested indignantly. "It's a genuine embossed Tarkalian tunic!"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Trust me, Harry, it's lumpy. And to tell the truth---" she paused, considering her words.

"What?" The glint of humor in his dark eyes encouraged her to go on.

"It's ugly," she replied rapidly, carefully watching for his response to her daring.

"It's what?!" His eyebrows flew up exaggeratedly. He couldn't believe she'd said that. It was one of his favorite shirts. It was comfortable. It was---unique.

"It's ugly," she repeated flatly. "That color's not good on you. It makes you look---sallow."

Harry gazed down at the brownish yellow-green material. "It does? I didn't know that. Tom gave it to me, you know."

She sighed. "No wonder. It would look even worse on him. Forget the shirt. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Harry's feelings weren't hurt. In fact, he was pleased she felt comfortable enough to tell him the truth. For a change, she wasn't telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. They were making progress. Maybe it was time to step up their level of physical intimacy. Just a small step? Tom had advised him to push---just a little.

"Well, if the shirt is in the way---" He sat up and pulled it off over his head then tossed it onto the back of the couch. He stretched out again, carefully not noticing Malista's wide-eyed stare. "Okay, Malista---find the---whatever you were looking for. The 'lumpy shirt' is out of the way." He closed his eyes and waited.

She gulped. She'd never seen Harry half-naked before. In all their physical encounters, all their clothing had stayed in place---more or less. And the lights were on full illumination!

She hesitated. But then curiosity and longing blended together and gave her the courage to experiment.

She placed her fingers gingerly on his collarbone and trailed them down over his smooth, muscular chest, stopping for a moment to explore the shape of his well-defined pectoral muscles. She was fascinated by his warmth. The warmth emanating from his skin seemed to send a wave of heat through every pore of her own body. Harry was striving to keep his breathing regular and even.

Her palms fluttered lightly over his ribs and skimmed back up to his sternum enjoying the tactile pleasure of smooth golden brown skin over hard muscle. One hand lightly circled his left nipple which stiffened responsively. Harry bit back a moan as her other hand found his belly button and a fingertip caressed the rim before dipping inside. "You have an innie," she whispered.

"Mm-hmmm," was as coherent a reply as he could manage. He was fighting the urge to---he was fighting all kinds of urges! This was the first step to intimacy. Letting her explore, to get comfortable with his body. He didn't think Malista was ready for anything more---not now.

But gods, this was killing him. He hadn't thought lying still could be such an effort. He couldn't restrain a low moan as her hand lightly traced a pattern of sensation down the center of his chest. It almost seemed to burn everywhere she touched---and some places she didn't.

His moan startled Malista and she jumped back to reality. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Right.

"Sorry, Harry. I took a little detour." Her voice sounded strange in her own ears.

"I don't mind," he said, sounding slightly choked. "You have wonderful hands."

She pulled her wonderful hands away from their fond exploration of his body and forced her mind back to her purpose. She located the xiphoid easily now and measured the two finger widths to find the correct location for the heart massage. Getting off the floor, she knelt next to him on the couch and put her hands and arms in the proper position. She pushed gently on his chest. "Five compressions to each lung inflation," she said under her breath.

"Lung inflation?" Harry queried, opening his eyes to watch her. She looked so studious as she concentrated. He wanted to kiss the little frown between her eyebrows until it disappeared, then work his way down...

"Mouth to mouth resuscitation," she said. She pushed down four more times. "Close your eyes. You're not supposed to be conscious---or even breathing, for that matter."

"Yes, ma'am." He shut his eyes and forced his muscles to loosen.

She placed her hand under the nape of his neck and tilted his head back, muttering the instructions to herself as she did so. "Airway opened." She pinched his nose with her fingers and placed her lips over his. She pretended to blow. After a few more rehearsals, she was sure she had

Unaware of making a conscious decision, his arms tightened around her. She stopped moving. Beneath her, she could feel every heated, hard---and hardening---muscular inch of his body pressed firmly along the length of hers. Her breath caught as she fell into the dark eyes that mesmerized her so easily.

She wasn't sure where this was leading, but she trusted him. She slowly settled into his hold, allowing him to mold her against him as if she were made of molten wax.

He tugged on the nape of her neck and brought her lips down closer to his. "Turnabout is fair play. Let me give *you* some mouth to mouth, Malista. "

When he finally released her lips to nibble at her neck and jaw, she whispered, "Harry, I don't think that kind of mouth to mouth is what the doctor had in mind. But I like it." Her giggle caught on a gasp as his hands cupped her behind and pulled her more tightly against him. She blushed and dropped her face into the curve of his neck, torn between excitement and shy misgiving.

"Um-hmm," he murmured, finding her earlobe and worrying it gently with his teeth. She moaned as she felt his warm breath tickle her ear. It was an effort to remember to breathe herself as she felt that warmth course throughout her body. Her blood felt superheated as a blush seemed to sweep her from head to toe.

One hand stroked up her back, finding its way beneath the hem of her shirt, tugging it upward till it caught under her arms. That strong, silken touch caressed the smooth satiny skin on her back as her bare stomach rested against his. Her hands were kneading and stroking his shoulders and neck as she gave herself over to the purely physical pleasure of skin against skin, rubbing her cheek against his upper body, feeling his hands exploring the curves and contours of her body.

He kissed her again. She felt lightheaded. His fingers slid under the waistband of her shorts....

And she stiffened in alarm, her breath catching in her throat.

He stopped his movements, leaving his hands in place as she lifted her head to face him. "Harry." She made a visible effort to relax, but he could still see the remnants of panic and resistance in her green eyes. She dipped her head down and tried to kiss him again.

He evaded her lips and shook his head. Withdrawing his hands from her body, he quickly straightened her clothing and gently rolled her off of him and onto the couch beside him. He tucked her into his side and embraced her, holding her still when she tried to move away, flushing with embarrassment and shame.

"Malista, don't move. Let me get my breath." His voice sounded strained.

She stilled obediently. "Harry, I'm so sorry," she moaned. "I don't mean to be a tease or to---"

"I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She hugged him more tightly, almost desperately.

After a few minutes, Harry's breath---among other things---was more or less under control. "Malista, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rush---"

"You aren't. It's my fault. I don't know why---I just can't---It's like a warning klaxon goes off in my head---"

Harry chuckled. She raised her head to stare at him. "An intruder alert?" he asked, brown eyes sparkling with humor.

Her mouth fell open in astonishment. "You're *joking* about it?"

"Malista, if I don't laugh, I may very well cry," he said playfully. "It's okay," he added as he read the dismay in her eyes. She wasn't ready to find anything amusing in this situation. "I promise you, frustration is not fatal. We'll live. We just won't enjoy it for a few minutes."

She dropped her head back onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." He sounded almost stern. "I was the one who started it. If I have to live with being frustrated, it's my own fault."

"But it's not fair! To you," she said. "You shouldn't have to---"

"Shh." He stroked her hair and soothed her with his own calm acceptance. "Calm down. Being with you, touching you---it's enough. For now. There's no rush. I meant what I said. I'll wait. For you, I'll wait as long as it takes. The best things in life are the ones worth waiting for. There's an old Italian saying, 'He who can wait, obtains what he wishes.' My mother told me that one when I was waiting to get my first assignment after graduating from the Academy. She was right, too."

She sighed and nestled against him. Her hand rubbed his bare chest rhythmically. The warmth and closeness was almost hypnotic. Being with Harry, listening to him breathe, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. He wanted her. More than that---he cared for her. It was so reassuring to know that. It was so peaceful. Her eyes were half closed, she was floating between waking and sleeping.

"Slut!"

She heard the word so clearly, she was sure it had been spoken---but it wasn't Harry's voice. And it wasn't hers. It was her father's. It was her father's voice that she heard.

She jerked out of Harry's arms, sitting upright so abruptly she fell off the couch onto the floor. Startled, he jumped up as well.

She scrambled to her feet.

"Malista, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I have to go." She was frantically gathering up the padd and the other belongings she'd brought with her to his quarters this evening.

"Malista, it's not nothing. What is it?" He caught her arm as she headed for the door. "Talk to me! I want to help!"

She twisted out of his grasp. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but attempted a smile. It was a grotesque imitation of the doctor's efforts and totally unconvincing. "I said it's nothing. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry." She darted away before he could formulate another sentence.

Harry frowned at the closed door. "What the hell---?" He kicked the couch viciously. Hurting his foot, he collapsed on the floor and stared at the door once more. He didn't think going after her would be helpful at all. At least not now. Harry shook his head in confusion and despair and flopped onto his back to stare disconsolately at the ceiling.

************************

Malista was waiting for Chakotay in his office. She'd sent a message to the terminal in his quarters asking him to meet her there after he'd had breakfast. She leapt to her feet as he entered and stood there silently. She was trembling and she was chewing her lower lip, ignoring the fact that it was already torn and bleeding.

"I'm off duty today," she explained as she plopped down in the armchair.

That explained why she was out of uniform. She was wearing the baggy green jumpsuit she'd worn on the Maquis ship. That she hadn't worn since she'd begun seeing Harry Kim. It was wrinkled and at least a size too large, but still didn't conceal that she had lost some weight. Her shoulder-length hair was brushed forward, almost concealing her face. Which seemed to be the point. Her eyes were reddened, from lack of sleep or from crying or both.

Chakotay wondered if she understood herself that she was hiding again. Hiding her figure, hiding her face, hiding her attractiveness. And what else? Chakotay took a deep breath. He could sense this wasn't going to be easy---for either of them.

"I hope you don't mind, Commander---"

"Not at all. You said you were going to be on time this week, Malista. By my reckoning, you're two days and seven hours early," he said lightly. "What's the problem?"

She was bouncing her foot up and down, as if she was too nervous to sit still. She clasped her hands in front of her, wringing them. "I haven't been sleeping too well."

"Is this something new?"

She hesitated. She flung her hands out and grasped the arms of the chair, squeezing tightly. "Not exactly. But the dreams are. New, I mean. Before---I just couldn't sleep. Now---last night, I heard a voice. But I was awake. When I heard the voice, I mean.

I was awake. And then I had this dream."

"What did the voice say?"

"Just one word." She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see his reaction. "Slut."

"Did you recognize the voice?"

She hesitated before answering. "It was my father's voice."

Chakotay didn't speak. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Then I had this dream," she repeated.

"A nightmare?" he asked gently.

Her breathing was audible and ragged. "Not exactly. It was more like a---I don't know. Maybe it was a memory."

"Do you remember the dream?"

"Yes." Her voice was shaky. Her eyes met his, then darted away and back again. She couldn't maintain eye contact. One hand tugged restlessly at her collar. The other clutched the chair arm as if it were a lifeline keeping her in touch with solid reality.

"Do you want to talk about the dream?" he asked. No answer. A pause. "How did it make you feel?"

She didn't answer. She was biting her lip again. She stopped when she tasted the metallic flavor of fresh blood on her tongue as a cut reopened. Her index finger flew up to her mouth to check the damage. Harry didn't like it when she---

"Malista?" He reclaimed her attention. His brown eyes were warm with compassion. "How did the dream make you feel?"

"Terrible. Hopeless." Her voice broke. The tears were not far from the surface, but she seemed to be fighting them off. "Dirty."

Chakotay pushed a box of tissues across the desk to sit within easy reach of her hand. "You want to tell me about it?"

"No. Not really. But I'm afraid---" She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to squeeze the tears away. Trying to pretend they didn't exist. If she didn't acknowledge them, then they might go away. A shaky sigh escaped her. "I'm afraid you'll think I'm crazy. I'm even more afraid that if I don't tell someone about it, I'll have the same dream again. Or something worse."

"Sometimes it helps to talk about it. Maybe I can help you put it in perspective."

"Do you believe dreams have meaning, Commander?" Her voice was filled with dread or hope. He couldn't tell which.

"Some of my people believe in vision quests, which are similar to dreams. These vision quests provide information and guidance for making choices about the direction your life should take. Is that the kind of dream you had?"

She was shaking her head before he finished. "No. I dreamed about my father. About when I contacted him---after---" She bit her lip again, flinched at the sharp pain, and covered her damaged mouth with the tips of the fingers of her right hand. She blotted the blood away with a tissue.

"After Huldon III?" Chakotay supplied.

She nodded vigorously, relieved she didn't have to say it aloud again.

"Is there any reason that you can think of that may have caused you to dream---"

"We were talking about it yesterday." The words burst out.

"We?"

"I was telling B'Elanna about it. About what he said when I called him. When I told him. Did I ever tell you?"

Chakotay shook his head. He'd never asked. He knew that it was at that time she had stopped using her family name of Petrides and adopted her Maquis code name of Shadow as her surname. He hadn't felt a need to know the specifics, and she hadn't volunteered the information so he hadn't asked.

"I told Harry. And Tom. At different times. And yesterday I told B'Elanna." She twined her fingers in a tress of her ebony hair and began to twine it around her hand, pulling at it, but ignoring the pain she caused herself. It seemed to help her focus and continue so Chakotay noted it, but didn't mention it.

"Would you like to tell me?" he offered.

She nodded. "I didn't tell them everything he said," she confessed. She looked at him and paused as if waiting for his reaction to that revelation. Would he be mad at her sin of omission? She knew from their days in the Maquis that Chakotay had a strict code of honor, one that didn't include lying to his friends. His warm eyes and impassive expression comforted her somehow.

"You can tell me what you want to, Malista. This is all confidential. You know that. I won't share anything you tell me with anyone. Not without first getting permission from you." He felt she needed that reassurance so he gave it freely. Not for the first time.

"I told him---my father---that I'd been captured by the Cardassians. That I'd been their prisoner. Before I could even think of---how to tell him the rest---he asked me." In her distress, she couldn't sit still. She was fidgeting, her hands moving restlessly, fiddling with her hair, grasping at the chair, at her own arms. "He asked me straight out, 'Did they rape you?' What was I supposed to say, Chakotay? I couldn't deny it. Was I supposed to lie to my father?" She didn't wait for his response. She rushed on.

"I couldn't lie to my own father. He would have known I was lying anyway. So I said yes. They did. And he looked at me for a second---I swear, it was no more than *one split second*---and he said 'I have no daughter.' I tried to argue with him. I begged him. I told him I was sorry. I told him I wanted to come home. That he was right. I never should have left home. I never should have joined the Maquis." Her tears were blinding her. She scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands and wiped her hands on the legs of her jumpsuit. Chakotay came around the desk to stand next to her chair. He put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to give her some solace.

"Then he said 'You have no home here. You've lost your chastity. You're *damaged goods*! No respectable man will marry you.' He called me---a slut. He said I had chosen to leave my family and join the *Maquis scum*. He said I'd made my bed so now I could lie in it with the other---sluts---who ran with the Maquis. He wouldn't even let me talk to my brothers. But they probably wouldn't have wanted to---" She buried her face in her hands and wept. It was a helpless, hopeless release of grief and despair and loss.

'Maybe the first she'd ever allowed herself,' the first officer thought. She'd been carrying this burden alone. For years.

After a few minutes, when the sobs began to subside, Chakotay knelt next to her and put his arms around her, giving her ample opportunity to resist or move away if she recoiled from being touched. He didn't know what else to do. His action seemed to be appropriate. She leaned against him as if drawing on his strength.

She finally raised her head. He put several tissues in her hand, tactfully moving back to his chair, not looking at her as she mopped her face and blew her nose.

He waited.

He waited, his eyes on his desk, until her breathing slowed and became more regular and she'd regained her composure. He looked up and his eyes caught and held hers with the force of the conviction she could read there. "Malista, your father was wrong. I wish I could do something to totally remove the memory of his words from your mind. I can tell those words hurt you terribly. They are continuing to hurt you, because you allow it. Your father was wrong. You cannot continue to allow his words to control your life and your feelings."

"But Chakotay, my whole life---until I was sixteen, my father loved me. I threw it all away. The Cardassians took my whole life away when they---"

Chakotay wasn't prepared to give in on this point. He knew counselors were supposed to be objective. Perhaps he wasn't as objective as he should be to deal with her, with this situation, but he knew beyond any doubt that this was a crucial cusp in Malista's life and he prayed the Spirits would give him wisdom and the right words to say.

"What happened on Huldon III was NOT your fault. You joined the Maquis because you believed that it was the right thing to do. When you were hurt, when you needed him most, your father let you down. He pushed you away because you didn't meet his standards for the perfect daughter. That was his choice, not yours. His mistake. You were a victim of the Cardassians. You didn't choose to be raped."

"But Chakotay, didn't I tell you---I *volunteered* to go with the Cardies---"

"Trying to save your friends. You thought you could keep the Cardassians busy until the Maquis rescued you."

"I was so dumb!" she cried. "So stupid! I didn't even have much of an idea of what to expect. What they would do. I was just scared stupid! But it will never happen again. I will *never* let anyone do that to me again!" The glittering fury sparking in her green eyes disturbed him. He wasn't sure what it meant or at whom it was directed. It made him uneasy.

"Malista, you didn't choose what happened to you. The blame for what happened belongs to those who did it. You were an innocent victim. If your father was too blind or prejudiced to see that---" He couldn't think of the words to convince her.

"But he was right about one thing," she said bitterly. "I am damaged goods. Everyone knows it too."

Chakotay sighed. Here it came. The culture clash. He'd known it was going to come up. He found it ironic that he would be the one to advise someone on such a subject. He hadn't had much luck resolving the clash between himself and his own father with regard to the same type of cultural differences. "Malista, I know that in the culture of your homeworld, chastity is very important---"

"It's not important. It's crucial. There is no marriage for a woman who is not a virgin," she explained. "No honorable man would *marry* such a woman."

"That may be true on your homeworld, but it isn't true in every culture."

"Chakotay, I'm may be stupid, but I'm not *that* stupid! I know that," she snarled. "I know it in my head. But that's not me! I'm not---marriage material. Not any more."

"So what are you going to do about Harry Kim?" Chakotay asked, watching her carefully and noting how she cringed at the mention of the young man's name.

Her lips trembled as she attempted a smile. "I'm going to enjoy our relationship as long as it lasts. And if we ever manage to make love, I'm going to do my best to enjoy it and give him pleasure. I'm going to make him happy for as long as I can. And when he leaves me..." Her voice cracked. "When he leaves me, I'll try to learn to---no, I *will* learn to live without him---somehow."

"What makes you think he'll leave you?" Chakotay had to ask. She made it sound like a fait accompli. As if there were no other *possible* outcome.

She almost managed a laugh, but it was more of a sob. "Because men like Harry Kim---don't have to settle for--- He's an honorable man. He's also young. He may want to experiment sexually with a woman like me, but eventually, when he's older and he's ready to start a family, he will want to marry---and it won't be me. He'll find someone else---someone more---more worthy---"

"Malista---"

She shook her head obstinately. "Chakotay, I'm a realist. Or I'm trying to be one. I don't *deserve* someone like Harry. For some reason, right now, he's attracted to me. He likes me---he's fond of me and wants to spend time with me. I'm happy with that. I'll *be* happy with that---as long as it lasts."

"Did you ever think that this might be the reason you have a block about making love with Harry?"

"What?" she asked breathlessly, frowning her confusion.

"Maybe you're not comfortable with sexual intimacy, because you feel you should be married before you take that step," the first officer suggested.

She grimaced. "Chakotay, you weren't listening. He knows what happened. I've been honest with him. He knows I'm not a virgin. Harry doesn't *want* to marry me."

"Are you so sure?" Chakotay couldn't believe she was so damned stubborn under that quiet exterior. "It may not be an issue with him. That may be why he's never brought up the subject. You know that he's not a virgin himself."

"Men never are," she said cynically. "Isn't it odd how that double standard has survived for centuries? Especially in backward colonies like Helios. Do you think it's because my people are Greek? Or because they're farmers? Tradition bound. Oh, it doesn't matter why. It's still true." She looked exhausted. She rubbed her forehead as if her head ached. "Can I go now?"

Chakotay frowned at her. He was depressingly aware that nothing he had said seemed to have helped her at all. Nothing he'd said had made a dent in her low self-esteem. He gave it one more try. "Malista, Harry is showing every symptom of being a man who is in love with you."

"He's never said so. Harry is a very kind person. He wouldn't want to lead me on." There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. "It's not his fault. I don't expect him to want more than I'm willing to give. For Harry, there is *nothing* that I'm not willing to give to him, but I'm not sure he understands that. And I won't push *him* for more than he is willing to give me. I want his happiness. The cost to me---doesn't matter." She seemed to be sincere.

Chakotay didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't one hundred percent sure he was reading Harry Kim correctly. Harry was a relatively young man, inexperienced in many aspects of life and sometimes difficult to analyze. It was possible the ensign *wasn't* deeply involved on an emotional level. Stymied, the first officer tried to think of something else to persuade her to change her view of herself and her situation. If she wouldn't listen to him....

"Malista, have you talked to Tom about this? Any of it?"

She looked puzzled. "No, not really. Why?"

"You should. I've heard his relationship with his father---wasn't the best. Something else you two have in common. You might learn something from him. He might have some advice to offer. And no one knows Harry as well as Tom. Think about it. All right?"

"All right. I have some time off this morning. I think I'll go back to my quarters and try to get some sleep. I think now I'm worn out enough that I won't even dream." Her mouth twisted in an ironic smile. She took a moment to compose herself. She walked out into the corridor and the door slid closed.

Chakotay felt saddened by the practiced ease with which she'd assumed her mask of cool control. The first officer had a definite feeling there was a lot more she wasn't telling him. It was like working in the dark wearing a blindfold and earplugs. He could tell she'd agreed just to placate him. She had no intention of confiding further in Tom Paris or anyone else. She'd slammed the walls around herself firmly into place and was denying everyone entry.

Chakotay slumped in his chair. He was worn out emotionally himself. He began to go over his options. He needed to enlist some help. He was grateful that the doctor had already scheduled a conference to discuss Malista Shadow and her treatment. With him. And with Tom Paris. In two hours. They were to have met three days ago, but other problems and scheduling conflicts had forced a cancellation of the original appointment. The first officer hoped the delay hadn't allowed a bad situation to worsen beyond all hope of a remedy.

Chakotay wondered how much he *could* help Malista Shadow. Without violating confidentiality, how much could he tell anyone? She wouldn't confide even in him completely. The doctor had some pieces of the puzzle, he had others, and Tom---who knew how much he knew? Who ever knew what was going on behind that smart ass facade? Certainly not Chakotay. Paris still seemed to raise his shields the moment Chakotay opened his mouth. And sometimes when he didn't. Sometimes all it took was a look from the first officer to provoke that reaction.

This was going to take some finesse. And involving Paris---if Malista was emotionally volatile, then Paris was the wild card in the game. Or was that Harry Kim's role? Spirits, he wished they had a trained counselor on board!

*************************************

"You're stalling," B'Elanna Torres accused.

Tom Paris jerked guiltily as he toyed with the food on his plate. "Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "I must look pretty rough around the edges if Neelix is trying to force feed me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again. I should never have told him about comfort foods."

The chief engineer lips upturned into a fond smile. "Yes. You do look pretty rough. Are you all right?"

Tom eyed her trying to judge how hard a time she was going to give him. "I just don't want to go to this meeting. That's all."

"Why?" She cupped her chin in her palms, resting her elbows on the table as she studied his solemn expression.

"Why what?"

"Don't answer a question with a question," she growled, echoing one of his favorite complaints about Malista's style of conversation. "You know what I mean. You told Harry you were going to talk with the Doc and Chakotay about the next step in counseling Malista. So?"

"So what?" He quickly snapped his arms down to cover his ribs as she feinted a punch toward them. "Sorry." He picked up half his sandwich and took a small bite. 'Stalling for time again, Tom?' he asked himself. 'Yeah,' he answered himself. He chewed slowly. Very slowly.

B'Elanna waited, showing no signs of impatience except for the slight crease of a beginning frown between her brows. She reminded him of a hunting cat, waiting for its prey to make a move. Silently.

Staring.

Silently.

'Oh, that's not fair!' Tom thought. 'I can stand anything---but silence.' He smiled feebly in Torres' direction and reached for his cup. She smacked the back of his hand.

"Ouch!"

"Stop stalling. Talk to me." She sighed. Loudly. "Tom, why don't you want to go to the meeting? You've been telling me for days---weeks---how worried you are about Malista! Isn't this your best chance to do something about it?"

"B'Ella, I just---"His words died as he took in the compassion in her beautiful brown eyes. He couldn't lie or make up a story. Not with those eyes looking at him with that expression. He reached for her hand and clasped it between his, finding comfort in the thrill of warmth that spread through him every time he touched her. He found himself marveling again at the miracle that had led to the two of them finding each other. In the Delta Quadrant of all places. Who would have ever thought....

"Talk to me, Tom," she urged him earnestly. "I'm listening." As he hesitated, she

made an educated guess. "You're worried about dealing with Chakotay?"

He exhaled noisily, relieved that he didn't have to find the words that would express his thoughts without offending her. "Yeah."

"And you're afraid you won't know what to do to help Malista? You're afraid you'll screw it up?"

"Yeah." The word came out more easily this time. His eyes widened at her perception.

"I've got news for you, Hotshot. You don't know everything. And no one---except you-expects you to always have the answers and solve all the problems you know about."

A hint of a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Here I thought I had you fooled. How long have you known I'm not omnipotent?"

Torres sighed again, this time with a hint of exasperation at his attempt at humor. "And you're afraid Malista or Harry or both will get hurt? And blame you?"

"Sort of. Hey, you're getting good at this stuff," Tom said with a relieved grin. To him, it felt as if she had removed a mantle of solid deuterium off his shoulders. He wasn't in this alone. This was something that had always been missing from his life. A willing partner to help bear his burdens. Whether he wanted her to, or not. Okay, so there was a down side as well.

Torres grinned wryly, bringing her free hand up and placing it atop their clasped hands. "I'm learning. And I'm not good at 'this stuff'. I'm just getting better at reading you." She raised her eyebrows. "Of course, reading you is light reading. Sort of like reading a holocomic."

"Hey!" he protested automatically, knowing very well she was joking.

"Tom," she said gently. She waited for him to get serious and leaned forward to ensure she had his complete attention. "Malista's problems are *not* your fault. Chakotay and you and the doctor are all working toward the same goal. Teamwork. Don't take on blame and responsibility that aren't yours."

"Now why does that sound familiar?" Tom mused aloud, his brow crinkling.

"Because you said it to Malista. And to me. And probably to Harry at some time or another."

"Oh! I knew I'd heard it somewhere." His smile came more naturally, more easily.

"And as for Chakotay? Remember to *listen* to what Chakotay says---not to what you *think* he's going to say. Don't read between the lines or overanalyze." Torres knew that Chakotay and Paris had found some mutual respect for each other in the last few months, but their relationship was still somewhat uncomfortable. For both of them. Especially when dealing each other outside the well-defined parameters of their assigned duties.

She was confident that they could work out their differences, though she wasn't optimistic enough to believe they would ever be the best of friends. She was hoping for a simple friendship, hopefully with a degree of affection or fondness, but she knew it would take time.

The two men were just too different in attitude and experience to find common ground easily. She was hoping to be that common ground. Or perhaps Malista could create one. She didn't really understand why Tom was so worried about the younger woman. She hadn't attempted suicide again. It didn't seem likely that she would. Maybe they were blowing the whole problem out of proportion?

Paris checked his chronometer. "Got to go, B'Ella." He got to his feet, his expression as composed as always, but she could see beyond his mask now. He was still nervous and ill at ease though he covered it well. Most people would have been totally fooled.

A few months ago, she would have been one of them.

"Not without a goodbye kiss," she commanded. She still wasn't terribly comfortable with public displays of affection and felt no need for them to provide her with a sense of security. But she was aware that Tom seemed to need that kind of reassurance. And if he needed a demonstration of the seriousness of her feelings for him, then she would provide it---and anyone who objected could go tickle a targ!

"Right here in the messhall in front of the whole crew?" Tom tried to sound horrified, though he couldn't contain the delighted grin that lit his azure eyes. B'Elanna was a private person. He knew that she was doing this for him. It made him feel truly connected to her. And it let him know that she wasn't ashamed of him or their relationship, a bit of comfort that he appreciated right now.

She narrowed her eyes at him demandingly. "Right here. Right now. One kiss,

Lt. Paris. That is an order." She stood next to him, not quite leaning against him.

"But I outrank you," he purred in her ear, then leaned back to study her reaction to his show of resistance.

"Oh." B'Elanna had been waiting for an opportunity to try a human feminine tactic she'd observed, but never employed before. She'd always thought it was silly. The time seemed right. Her moistened lower lip came out just slightly and she looked up at him, widening her brown eyes. To her pleased surprise, it worked. The last iota of icy coolness in the blue eyes melted away.

Tom couldn't believe it. His eyes lit with joy. She was flirting with him! Pouting? Risking looking silly? In public?

Well, sort of. There were only a handful of crew members present and they were trying desperately to find their lunch edible so they weren't paying much attention. The pilot's relationship with the chief engineer was old news by now.

The alarm on his chronometer signaled, demanding his attention again. "B'Ella, we're going to finish this later," he whispered. He bent and captured her mouth for a quick but thorough kiss.

"Promises, promises!" she grumbled as he exited the messhall almost at a dead run, unable to wipe the smile from his face. She resumed her seat and made a face at the contents of her tray.

************************************

The doctor had made use of his holoemitter to attend the meeting in Commander Chakotay's office which afforded more privacy than Sickbay could offer. He was seated next to the first officer when Tom Paris strode into the room, with a bright smile that was just beginning to fade. It faded more and more quickly as he neared the table, giving way to a polite, controlled curve of the lips.

Chakotay indicated the vacant chair across from himself. Paris sank into it without speaking. The three of them studied each other for a moment, each one wondering which of the others would begin.

Predictably, it was the Emergency Medical Holograph. "Shall I begin?" Without waiting for a response, he went on. "Our primary goal is to develop a plan of action that will enable us to facilitate Malista's integration into the gestalt of---"

"What?" Tom asked. "Doc, do you think we can skip the lecture? We all know what the problem is." He kept his eyes focused on the EMH.

"I think Paris---Tom---is right, Doctor. Let's just get right to the point," Chakotay said. His eyes were also fixed on the holodoctor. "What do we need to do to help Malista? Have you defined the problem and come up with a course of treatment?"

The doctor frowned. This was not going as he'd planned. He'd made copious notes to prepare for this conference and these two had already derailed his presentation. "The problem should be defined---"

Tom cleared his throat. "We already know the problem. Malista was raped by the Cardassians five years ago and abandoned by her family as a result. Now she's stuck in the Delta Quadrant. Doesn't that sum it up pretty well?"

"That is an oversimplification," the doctor protested.

"I'd like to keep it as simple as possible, Doctor," Chakotay suggested firmly. "Neither Tom nor I are professional counselors or psychologists. We'd like to hear your recommendations in layman's terms. If you can handle that?"

The doctor was miffed. "Of course I can handle that," he sniffed. He fiddled with his padd, trying to condense a meticulously prepared four hour lecture into succinct layman's terms that would be comprehensible to these---amateurs.

For the first time since Paris had entered, the lieutenant and the commander looked directly at each other. The blue eyes glinted with a hint of unholy glee at the first officer's cooperation in flustering the EMH---something Tom alone had not been able to do with any great success in three years. The brown eyes met his with a deadpan expression that gave nothing away, but Paris somehow knew nevertheless that Chakotay shared his amusement. Just for that moment, it put the two of them on the same side.

Paris felt the tautness at the base of his skull ease somewhat. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all? He snapped back to attention as the doctor finally began to speak once more.

"In my opinion, the physical and psychological effects of the initial trauma have been dealt with," the doctor announced. "Malista has moved past the fear of intimacy on a physical level---at least with certain individuals."

"Can you give us an example, Doctor?" the first officer inquired ingratiatingly. "We don't have your expertise and training."

Paris almost choked on a laugh at the smooth line of snake oil the commander was laying on to soothe the EMH's hurt feelings. It seemed that Tom was not the only officer to have an occasional memory lapse concerning the true nature of the doctor. If he was only a computer program, then there were no feelings involved. If he was more than a program, and Tom was beginning to agree with Malista's theory that he was, then the balm Chakotay was expending would improve the medico's morale and ensure his cooperation.

The first officer shot a quelling, but not hostile, glance at the pilot. Tom subsided and went into listening mode, his arms folded loosely across his chest as he lounged back in his chair.

The doctor's eyes lifted from his datapadd. "She has evidenced---" He seemed to make a further effort and slipped into more informal language. "She no longer has a general fear of being touched. I have made a point of observing her interactions with other crewmembers, particularly Mr. Paris and Mr. Kim. And in addition to allowing them to touch her and occasionally initiating physical contact with them, she kissed me," he added.

"She kissed you?" Chakotay seemed mildly surprised, eyebrows rising.

"On the cheek," the EMH clarified and hastened to add, "There was nothing improper---"

"Of course not, Doctor," Tom interrupted hastily, doing his best to suppress a snort of laughter. "That would be unethical between a doctor and patient."

The doctor flung a poisonous look at the pilot and returned to the topic of conversation. "Malista's problem is no longer physical. It is social and emotional. Her background and life experiences have not prepared her for life in a closed society such as we have developed here on Voyager. As a coping mechanism, she has compartmentalized her life to a certain degree and functions very well within the parameters of her duty assignments. It is when she is outside the chain of command that she fails to understand her role."

"I've noticed that," Chakotay commented. "When we discovered she was working double shifts, the captain and I ordered her to socialize more with the crew. We thought that would help her feel that she fit in here. Unfortunately---"

"She didn't know how," Tom finished. "I don't understand how she got to this point, Doc. I mean she's twenty-four years old. How can she not know the simplest things about how to get along with other people?"

The doctor was pleased the two men were ready to listen to him and it showed in his smug expression. "Malista was the only daughter of a large family. She had five brothers and evidently her father was a very authoritarian, controlling person. Malista never attended public schools. She and her brothers were home schooled on the family farm by correspondence course which also accounts for a lack of social development. From what she told me in the interviews I conducted with her after her suicide attempt, she was never allowed to make an important decision for herself. They were all made for her. Any attempt to make her own decisions was dismissed and her opinions belittled. The outcome was that she learned to rely on others for guidance and fails to trust her own judgment. Her family seems to have smothered every attempt at achieving independence under the guise of keeping her safe from harm. I suspect there was another trauma that occurred in her childhood that might account for the zealous over-protectiveness she ascribed to her family, but she has been unwilling to discuss her background any further."

"So you're saying her family controlled her until she joined the Maquis? And then her friends and the leadership in the Maquis controlled her?" Chakotay summarized. "And after she was raped and her family made it clear she couldn't come home, Niko Dishon took over---until he was killed. And now she has no one in control? And she doesn't know how to deal with the unaccustomed freedom?"

The doctor nodded. "Basically, everyone Malista has ever been close to has either been a Protector or a User---her terms, not mine. The Protector tells her what to do and nurtures her, setting limits on her behavior that make her feel secure and protecting her from others outside the relationship. The User makes demands on her to fulfill a certain role, which is also another way of setting limits, but gives her value. She is needed and valued for what she can do well. Mr. Dishon acted as a facilitator for the chain of command on Voyager and evidently combined the two roles. She knows how to deal only with those roles on an interpersonal level. There has never been any middle ground. Malista refuses to interact with anyone who doesn't fit those roles. She withdraws or tries to ignore their existence."

"Whoa, Doc!" Paris growled. "Are you saying she's never had friends? Never had anyone who *didn't* tell her what to do? I'm sorry, but I don't think so. She's not---"

"Mr. Paris," the EMH interjected, "you didn't let me finish. As I said, Malista has compartmentalized her life in an effort to allow herself to feel in control. This pattern was established long ago. All her life, her role in her environment has been defined by her usefulness. She *expects* to be used and manipulated---for her own good. In return, she hopes to be protected. To achieve this, she tries her best to ingratiate herself with her protector or protectors. You may have noticed that she is compulsively conscientious in her work. The fact that she was working double shifts and overtime is perfectly consistent with her mind set and her deep seated need to be needed. If you don't need her, in her thinking, then she becomes expendable. Or disposable."

Confident that both men were giving him their full attention now, the doctor continued, "To please others, she tries to win favor by using her domestic skills such as crocheting and cooking, or in performing as she did in the family circus. But there are evidently limits to what she will do. Her willingness to please her protectors does not extend to the exchange of sexual favors. This may stem from a fear of intimacy, or it may be because she was well indoctrinated in cultural mores which do not allow for premarital sex. It could be a combination of these factors. She did tell me that at one point, Niko Dishon sought a relationship of an intimate nature, but she refused. She says she liked him, but didn't find him attractive in that sense. Mr. Dishon evidently accepted her rejection of his advances, but it may have been a contributing factor in his allowing her to isolate herself in her quarters on Voyager when she was not on duty."

Paris' words held a bitter edge as he asked, "So where do I fit into this equation, Doc? Does she see me as a User----or a Protector? Or both?"

Chakotay noted the subtle body language clues that told him that the pilot had braced himself as if for a blow. His eyes darted from the young man to the EMH. He wanted an answer to that question himself. Tom Paris had been the one person on Voyager to reach out to Malista Shadow, something that the first officer was grateful for---even as he despised himself for not being there for her as well.

The doctor shook his head. "No, Mr. Paris. Tom. I'm not making myself clear. *You* are the exception that provides us with an opportunity to reach Malista and help her.

I asked her about your relationship with her and she has talked about you quite often when she has spent time in Sickbay. You are the first person in her life to ever simply be her friend. The fact that you wanted nothing from her, surprised and delighted her."

The EMH practiced his 'sympathetic smile' once more. It was improving with practice. "In addition, you have many interests in common, such as music and literature and you encourage her to indulge herself and to talk about her hobbies. It seems her family did not share her interests and demeaned their importance. Her natural inquisitiveness and desire to learn was ridiculed. They made her feel as if she were strange or unnatural for not being more like them. She has told me that you have always treated her with respect, as an equal. You discussed matters with her but let her make her own decisions, and supported her without trying to impose your will on her. You make suggestions rather than giving orders. She trusts you. You opened a door in the walls that she had constructed around herself as a defense. "

The pilot appeared to be having trouble taking in what was being said. The doctor noted clinically the young man's heart rate was up, as was his temperature. His face was distinctly flushed and his eyes were also showing signs of the presence of unusual levels of moisture.

Paris dropped his eyes to study his hands as he cleared his throat. He sniffed and tried to pretend Chakotay wasn't present. "So, Doc, what about Harry?" He was proud of himself. His voice didn't quaver or break.

"Mr. Kim also represents a disruption in the pattern, in a most positive way. To speak metaphorically, you opened the door in the walls of her defense mechanisms. He has invited her to come outside the walls and join him. Currently, I would say she is hovering in the doorway, in a manner of speaking. Of course, your relationship with Mr. Kim has smoothed his path considerably. Malista trusts you, so by extension, she was prepared to trust him. It is unfortunate that their relationship suffered a setback. Malista's improvement was also hindered."

"Yeah," Tom sighed tiredly. "I told him that."

Chakotay sat forward and regained the EMH's attention. "So what do you recommend, Doctor?"

"As I mentioned previously, Malista has two major difficulties---social and emotional. Mr. Paris and Mr. Kim have been instrumental in assisting her in dealing with her socialization and have done an admirable job of it. Emotionally, however..." the doctor's voice trailed off as he studied the datapadd he held once more. "Whether Malista is dealing with her emotions in a healthy manner is something I've been unable to ascertain. I have tried to question her about the source of her stressed behavior but she has not been forthcoming."

"I thought you said she'd overcome her fear," Tom protested.

The doctor threw an exasperated glance at the pilot. "Fear of any kind is not overcome in one step. It is a process. In addition, fear of intimacy is not the only emotion she is dealing with. She has a great deal of repressed rage as well."

Tom eyed him dubiously. "She doesn't seem all that angry to me. I thought her main problems were being frightened of people and afraid of abandonment."

The first officer was impressed, not for the first time, with the lieutenant's insightful understanding and compassion for Malista Shadow. "Just because she doesn't show the rage, doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

The doctor nodded. "Yes. Exactly. She is in denial. She doesn't wish to deal with her feelings so she has repressed them. Tried to pretend they don't exist. And blamed herself for the reactions of others. By taking on their guilt, she can maintain the fiction that *they* have done nothing wrong. Unconsciously, she sees herself as the guilty party and seeks to punish herself. Many trauma victims tend to withdraw from those around them---and then feel abandoned because they have isolated themselves. Unless she can recognize her anger, direct it properly, and let it go, she cannot heal herself emotionally. By hanging onto the hurt and anger, she has, so to speak, allowed a festering wound to go unhealed."

"She seemed to be doing all right for awhile," Paris commented. "Something happened after she and Harry made up and it has nothing to do with Harry as far as I can tell. Some other factor has come into play. Do you have any idea what or who set her off?"

"No," the doctor sounded extremely frustrated. "She is under some kind of pressure, but she refuses to discuss it. Her defense mechanisms were functioning adequately even with the ongoing difficulties of Voyager's situation. She reached a limit of sorts when Crewman Dishon was killed, which is why she attempted suicide. She is no longer suicidal, and has developed some sense of being connected to the crew thanks to Mr. Paris' very deftly helping her past that crisis. She's has enlarged her circle of acquaintances to include several other crewmembers, both male and female. She even managed to maintain her equilibrium under the duress of the break in her budding relationship with Ensign Kim. Something else is at work here. Something that hits close to home. Something very personal that her battered self-esteem has trouble dealing with. Or that endangers her sense of well-being."

"The last straw?" Chakotay quoted. Tom nodded, recognizing the reference.

The EMH blinked as he searched the database mentally. He nodded abruptly. "Very good, Commander. The cumulative effect of many levels and types of stressors are bringing Malista Shadow to a crisis point."

"Great," Tom snapped. "So she's coming to a crisis. What do we *do* about it?"

"We try to make her feel safe and secure," Chakotay replied. "We try to get her to talk about what's going on so we'll know what to do."

"She must let go of the past," the doctor said emphatically. "Whatever problem or problems she is dealing with presently, its severity has its roots in her past. The walls must come down."

"What you're saying is: the harder she tries to keep everything pushed into a corner of her mind, the more the pressure is building up?" Paris speculated.

"Correct. Something is going to give way. The repressed emotions must find a healthy outlet before an emotional breakdown occurs. If that happens, she could become a danger to herself or others," the doctor concluded.

Paris' voice was choked. "Suicide?"

"Possibly. Though I don't think so. She has moved past that stage. There is a possibility that she may express her rage through violence directed at others."

Paris shook his head. "No. I don't believe that. Not Malista. She wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Unless she's cornered," Chakotay muttered. As the lieutenant's eyes flashed to him, he continued in a conciliatory tone. "Anyone will fight when cornered. As she did on Huldon III."

"That's different," Paris protested, his mouth suddenly dry. "Those were different circumstances. She's safe on Voyager. No one is going to hurt her."

"Are you sure?" Chakotay argued. "She's been awfully upset and defensive for someone who feels safe. She's been acting like someone who's being persecuted. If someone is pushing her into a corner, she may lash out. With serious consequences for everyone involved. If she can't handle whatever it is by herself, she needs to confide in one of us so we can take appropriate action."

"So what are we supposed to do? Should Harry or I try to be with her all the time? How do we *make* her feel safe? How do we get her to confide in us?" The lieutenant was on his feet now. He couldn't sit still and deal with the churning agitation he felt in the depths of his stomach.

"Paris, calm down," Chakotay chided. His brown eyes had grown cold even as the younger man's eyes began to burn as a blue hot flame. Anger? Or fear? "I know you're concerned----"

"I can't deal with this, Commander! I'm not a doctor or a counselor! I'm just a damned good pilot!" He placed his hands flat on the table and leaned on them to keep them from shaking as he confronted the first officer. "Flying. That's what I'm good at. When it comes to emotions---I'm in over my head here! Can't you talk to her? You're the first officer. It's your job--"

"You mean *you* don't want the responsibility!" Chakotay flashed back at the taller man. "Well, tough!! Because want it or not---the responsibility is yours, Paris! You were quick to call a life boon when you saved my life in the Ocampan cave! You said I owed you my life. But you never heard of the other side of that coin, did you? Haven't you heard that if you save someone's life, you become responsible for that person and everything he or she does!? Well, you saved Malista's life---and now you have to accept the responsibility for---"

"Of course, I don't want that kind of responsibility! In case you haven't noticed, I don't do feelings well, Commander! I'm not good at this! And who are you to talk about dodging responsibility? She was under your command on your ship for two years! What did you ever do to help her? She's been here on this ship for three years---you're the first officer! You're in charge of the duty roster and you didn't even know she was working double shifts! Yeah, you were doing your part!" Tom lashed out.

Chakotay's features hardened, but he refused to recoil from the truth or to make excuses for his failures. "You're right."

Paris was taken aback by the first officer's honesty and lack of hostility. He dropped back into his chair and stared at the older man.

The commander continued, his jaw clenched so tightly it was hard to know how he could formulate words at all. "I did fail her. I thought that Dishon had everything in hand. I only made a half-hearted attempt to ask her if she was okay. I let her get away with stone-walling me. I didn't really reach out to her. After Huldon III, I was too busy being a Maquis leader, planning raids. Even on my ship, I just left it all to Dishon. On the surface, everything looked fine. I told myself that she was just a private person. That her personal life was none of my business. On a small ship like that. Can you imagine? That's probably why she doesn't trust me enough to confide in me fully as her counselor." The first officer suddenly looked defeated and depressed as his eyes met the pilot's unflinchingly.

"Chakotay," Paris began, not knowing what he was going to say until the words came out of his mouth. "You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. If she'd ever asked you---"

"She didn't have to ask *you*," Chakotay replied harshly. "You volunteered. You reached out to her. And I tried to warn you away from her because I thought you were playing games. And you saved her life. You saw the warning signs I was blind to. I owe you an apology, Paris---Tom. I know if you confront Malista, you'll wind up paying an emotional price. I'm sorry. But I don't think anyone else on this ship has a better chance of getting her to open up."

"I got into a relationship with her as a friend. Just a friend! I didn't expect to have to deal with something like this! What am I supposed to do?!" His last words were almost a plea. Catching himself, hearing his own words and his agitated tone, he stood, stalked away, and leaned against the wall with his arms folded tightly across his heaving chest as he fought to regain his composure and emotional balance.

The doctor's gaze had been bouncing between the two men as if watching a hoverball being slammed back and forth. Silence fell as both Chakotay and Paris tried to get themselves under control and decide where to go from this point. Unpalatable truths had been spoken and hung in the air like an unpleasant odor.

The first officer was the first to speak. "Paris---Tom. Sit down. Please," he added when it appeared the young man was going to pretend deafness, or possibly leave. "I'm sorry. This is not easy for any of us. I know when you befriended Malista, you had no idea what you were getting into. You couldn't know how desperately she needed your friendship, or how much she was going to come to depend on you. On us. I care about her myself and would help her if I could, but she's already made it clear that she won't tell me everything. I don't know why. Maybe I remind her too much of her father. You may be the *only* one who can reach her. Get her to open up and let go of whatever it is she's holding onto. But I promise you, you aren't in this alone. The doctor and I will help all we can in letting you know what to expect. We all need to work together."

"Damn," Paris muttered almost inaudibly. "That's exactly what B'Elanna said." He slunk over to the table and reseated himself without looking up.

Chakotay raised one eyebrow. "Really?"

Tom nodded. "She also said Malista's problems aren't my fault and I'm not responsible for solving her problems for her. Not all by myself, anyway."

"*I* could have told you that," the doctor stated. He didn't understand why the lieutenant and the commander shared a chuff of laughter at his remark, but he was pleased the emotional outbursts had been dealt with so they could move on to more practical considerations. "Now," he went on, "Shall we discuss our methodology? In therapy, it's sometimes referred to as 'Let's get naked together' ---"

"I'm not getting NAKED with my SISTER!" Tom refuted reflexively and adamantly.

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Figuratively, not literally, Lieutenant. It's a metaphorical expression. It means you share your pain, which lets her know that she is not unique in her suffering. Therefore, she feels more comfortable and shares her pain. The common ground you find provides a basis for discussion. Many support groups are founded on this principle."

"I don't know if I can do that. I wouldn't know what to say," he mumbled, feeling his inadequacies sharply.

Chakotay interceded again. "Tom, whatever it is that you've been doing has obviously been working. You might have to drop some of your own defenses and let her see your pain before she'll share hers with you. And that's going to hurt you. I'm sorry for that. But I think your instincts have served you well in helping her so far. Don't start second guessing yourself. You'll handle each problem as it comes up. You can't plan exactly what you're going to say, because you don't know what she's going to say. Think of what you would want someone to say to you---what *you* would need to hear. Trust your instincts."

Paris swallowed hard and nodded, somewhat reassured by the first officer's confidence in him.

The doctor cleared his throat to regain their attention once more. "Now, shall we discuss other methodologies?"

*************************************

*************************************

"He said what?" Harry huffed with disbelief.

Tom sighed. "He said Malista feels insecure because you're not----"

"Not dominating enough?" Kim shouted. "I don't believe this! This is the 24th century! What's the matter with you? I don't want to---"

"Harry, he didn't mean you have to treat her like a slave!" Tom interjected.

"Then what did he mean?!" the ensign demanded.

"Maybe I chose the wrong word," Tom sighed. Harry's reaction didn't surprise him. Not much. Actually, not at all. "What he means is, that Malista has been feeling insecure about her relationship with you---you do remember what insecure feels like, don't you, Harry?" He couldn't resist the sly dig.

Kim dropped dejectedly into the armchair opposite Paris. "This is all my fault, isn't it? Because I got jealous and insecure because of Freddie Bristow and went nuts and----"

"That's only part of it," his friend said soothingly. "She has a lot of emotional issues to work out. The Doc and Chakotay and I discussed your role in helping her. What we came up with is that you're doing a great job as it is---just by being yourself. I told you that before. You're a great guy and you've been very good for Malista."

"If I'm doing so great, why is she so scared when I'm not with her? Why won't she talk to me? How can I make her feel more secure?" Harry's brown eyes were pleading with him.

'As if *I* have all the answers,' Tom thought. 'What did I do to deserve this?'

He took a deep breath and fought off a minor panic attack of his own. "Harry, Chakotay thinks it might help if you---acted more proprietary with Malista. Not domineering. More like assertive. Just---I don't know. Possessive?"

"Possessive? I thought that's what started this whole thing! I got jealous and possessive!"

"No, Harry. Not necessarily jealous. Not like you don't trust her. Not accusatory. She's always far too ready to take the blame for anything and everything as it is," Tom complained, wishing he could make Harry understand. "Okay, make it proprietary. Act more proprietary."

"What's the difference?" Kim asked plaintively.

"Proprietary means---well, more like 'You are my woman!'," Paris replied. "You know. With people you don't know, or aren't interested in, you behave very politely. You don't try to tell them what to do because you don't care what they do. It's sort of that idea. She needs to know you care about her. She has to see a difference in the way you treat her---and the way you treat every other woman on the ship."

Harry gazed back at him blankly. "What? I'm too polite? Is that what you---"

Tom sighed. "Okay. For example: the way you treat B'Elanna. You're B'Elanna's friend, but you don't tell her what to do, not just because you'd fear for your life, but because it isn't your place to interfere. But with Malista, she's given you that right---the right to offer an opinion or disapprove. So just do it. Encourage her to argue with you. You know, get her opinions and make sure she knows she doesn't always have to agree with you. Boss her around a little, but lovingly! And don't push too hard."

"Libby would never have---"

Paris flinched and winced with melodramatic exaggeration.

"I know," Kim said. "I shouldn't bring up her name. But if I'd tried to treat Libby as 'my woman', she'd have had a fit!"

Though he'd never say a word to Harry about it, Tom had always had a sneaking suspicion that Harry's relationship with the other girl wouldn't have survived Harry's maturation process. From what Tom had read between the lines when Harry had talked about her, Libby sounded like a controlling wench. She was the one who'd begun making plans for their future together. As Kim had matured and become more self-confident, she would have had a harder time getting her own way. But of course, Harry didn't want to hear that. Certainly not now.

"Libby was a very secure young lady from what you've told me. Malista isn't. She needs some reassurance that you're sincere. When she's convinced you really care about her and she feels more self-confident, you can ease off on the proprietary stuff---if you want. For now, you want to make sure she knows you're committed to her. And you expect that commitment from her." He studied Kim's reaction carefully. "You *are* committed to her, aren't you, Harry?"

"Of course, I am!" the ensign snapped exasperatedly. "I told Malista I wasn't going to walk away from her. I told her the night we kissed and made up that I thought I was falling in love with her. I wouldn't lead her on if I wasn't serious. Why would you even ask such a question?"

The pilot exhaled noisily, a sigh of relief. "The doctor said that maybe Malista needs more than---words. A tangible sign or symbol." He waited hopefully for Harry to pick up on the broad hint.

Kim's eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "More than words? Like what?"

Tom gave up. If Harry didn't get that rather unsubtle hint, he obviously wasn't thinking along the same lines. Paris didn't want to push his best friend into a commitment he wasn't ready to make. It would just end in disaster.

Tom tried a smile. It was a weak attempt. "You know what they say, Harry. Actions speak louder than words. Just try to act like Malista is your choice. Let her know that. In public. In front of other people. That you care about her and will take care of her. If you make her feel like she's been *claimed* by you, she may begin to believe it's true. And then maybe she'll feel safe enough to tell you what's been bothering her."

Harry had the definite feeling he'd missed a cue somewhere. "Tom---"

The lieutenant got to his feet, faking an energy he didn't feel and hoping to effect a quick exit. "Harry, how would you like to try a couple of my private holoprograms. I brought this one----"

*************************************

Harry couldn't believe Tom had loaned him this holodeck program. It was one of his favorites and he usually kept them private. But then, Tom wanted Malista to be happy and relaxed. If this program could manage to relax the perpetual motion B'Elanna for more than thirty minutes, then it should work for the much more easy-going Malista.

"What did you say this is?" Malista asked curiously. Her first impulse had been to pop the hood and take a look at the strange vehicle's inner workings. She'd restrained her engineer's curiosity as Harry seated her inside on the cushioned seat.

"It's a 1957 Chevy. It was a land vehicle. Predating flitters and skimmers," the ensign replied. He turned on the radio and adjusted the volume control so the music would be suitable for background as they talked. "The music is supposed to set the mood for a little romance. It's from the same time period as the vehicle, more or less. It's something called Doo Wop according to Tom."

"Doo Wop?" she echoed. "That sounds like the noise the drive belts of the cargo loaders make when they aren't aligned properly. The music is pretty, but the lyrics don't make sense. 'Are the stars out tonight?' The stars are always----"

"Malista," Harry interrupted. She quieted immediately and looked at him with an expectant smile. "Lean back. Yeah, right here. That's it. Perfect. Comfortable?"

She nodded, snuggling into the curve of his arm along the back of the seat. The music was soothing. Even if the lyrics didn't make much sense. The twinkling starscape above them was beautiful. Even if it wasn't moving.

After a few moments of absorbing the atmosphere, Kim began to use his free hand to stroke the silken curliness of her shoulder-length hair. Casually, he lifted her hair, angling the tilt of her head so he could gain access to her throat. He nuzzled his way up and down, finally tucking his nose into the nape of her neck. She giggled at the feel of his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin. "What are you doing?"

"Sniffing your shampoo. Or is it a body lotion?" The murmured reply came as lips nuzzled and nipped, tasting and teasing. "Mmm. What is that scent? It's so familiar. I love it. It makes me crazy. Sweet. So sweet."

"Vanilla," she gasped breathlessly. One hand came up to squeeze his shoulder as if she couldn't keep her hands to herself any longer. She let her hand travel up the curve of his neck and entangled her fingers in his thick hair, massaging his scalp gently. She enjoyed touching him.

"Oh," Harry replied, inhaling deeply. "No wonder I like it. It reminds me of the cookies my mom used to make. Sugar cookies. Lots of vanilla." His lips trailed kisses up the column of her neck, stopping to nibble at her earlobe, flicking it with his tongue. "You taste like cookies too. My sweet sugar cookie. Positively edible." She could feel his mouth smiling against her neck. He nipped at her skin playfully. Her uniform would hide the marks. If she wanted them hidden.

"Cookie?" she gasped. "Well, as nicknames go, it's better than---" Her breath disappeared completely, lost, along with her train of thought, in the sensations he was creating with his lips and tongue as he found and caressed the throbbing pulse in her throat.

"*My* Cookie," he affirmed, drawing back to study her expression with solemn brown eyes. "Don't let me scare you, Malista, but being with you, kissing you, makes me feel---territorial. Possessive. That's it. I feel possessive." Well, I never claimed to be subtle or tactful, Harry thought. And the more direct, the less the chance for misunderstanding.

Her green eyes widened, but she didn't look alarmed. "You do?" She blinked. "What exactly does that mean?"

Harry smiled slowly, sensually. "Well, I won't throw you over my shoulders or drag you to my quarters by your hair," he drawled. Though the idea did have a certain appeal to him on some levels. "But I do feel a need to tell you that you are *my* Cookie---and I don't share."

"Harry---" She tensed apprehensively. He wasn't feeling jealous again, was he?

"I just want you to know that you are mine," he said, stroking her cheek, then cupping it in one hand. "And, vice-versa."

"Vice-versa?" Her voice was barely a whisper. A smile was tugging gently at her lips as she melted bonelessly into his arms once more.

"I am yours," Harry clarified. He took her right hand and placed it gently against his cheekbone, nuzzling his face into her palm. "And I hope you don't plan on sharing either."

"Oh, Harry, you are an angel," she sighed as he swooped towards her for an impassioned kiss. It felt like he was setting his seal upon her. Marking her as his. It felt wonderful. Her hands cupped his cheeks then slid up and around his neck, drawing his body closer. Those were the last words spoken in the holodeck for some time.

*************************************

On the star chart, the planet was identified as Four One Seven Three Eleven Red. Of course, Megan Delaney immediately dubbed it FOSTER. She hated numeric names for planets, an odd quirk in one who specialized in Stellar Cartography, but one of her pet peeves.

Food gathering missions were now a common duty for all the crew. Almost everyone volunteered to take a shift, if only for the opportunity to set foot on real soil and breathe real, unrecycled air. It was a refreshing chance to forget about the trials and limitations of life aboard a starship. And to forget about personal problems for a while.

The climate of Foster was mild and sunny. The food gathering crews were scattered around an area of approximately one hundred kilometers, collecting various berries, tubers, and plant samples. All samples collected had been subjected to rigorous tests for nutritional value and biochemical compatibility with the digestive systems of the various races aboard Voyager before the harvesting began.

The fruit trees on this planet were extremely large. The smallest was over thirty meters high with branches that spread like a canopy over the lake next to it. The trees surrounded the lake. They evidently required copious amounts of water. The leaves were a bluish green, the branches sturdy and thick with rough bark. The purplish fruits were similar to a pear in shape, a peach in texture, but an apple in taste.

Harry Kim studied the grove of trees as he approached from the transporter site. He and Mikel Hudson were carrying four sets of antigrav boots that would allow them to reach the tops of the trees and pick the fruit which didn't grow lower than ten meters above the ground.

"These are going to be very popular with the crew---the human crewmembers, at least. Unless, of course, Neelix finds a way to cook them with leola root," commented the Security Officer. "Yuck!"

Kim shot a rueful smile at Mikel. "Don't even mention leola root or pepper sauce," he pleaded. "We just have to tell Neelix we prefer our fruit raw." He stopped at the base of the tree and looked around for the other members of his team. "Where are Malista and Tom? I swear this is where we told them to wait."

Mikel shrugged. He pushed a forelock of dark brown hair back away from his eyes. He squinted in the sunlight that seemed so much brighter than the artificial ship's lighting and hoped he wouldn't burn---or, even worse, freckle. He felt the light dusting of golden freckles across his nose and cheeks made him look far too young and unsuitably boyish for a Security Officer. In an effort to counter the effect of the freckles and the upturned nose, Mikel attempted to maintain a serious demeanor while on duty in an effort to look professional, if not intimidating. Intimidating was usually beyond his ability.

A leaf drifted down and fluttered past Harry's line of sight. He tilted his head back and gaped up---and up---and up---at Malista Shadow!

She'd climbed the tree! She was at least twenty-eight meters above the ground! Harry suddenly had trouble drawing breath.

A cloth food sack was hanging from one shoulder, her long legs were wrapped around a branch about two feet in diameter, and she was using both hands to pick the fruit and place it in her sack. Harry cringed as she stretched out full length over empty air in order to reach a particularly succulent piece on another branch.

"Malista!" he shouted. "What are you *doing* up there? I told you to wait for the anti-gravs! You're going to fall!"

She was so startled by his yell, she lost her balance and almost made his words a prophecy come true. She grabbed for the branch with one hand and clenched her knees more tightly. When she'd regained her composure, she gazed down at the ensign with a disarming smile.

"Harry, I was doing fine until you scared me! The Greek people have a saying, 'He that will have the fruit, must climb the tree.' Besides, I like to climb trees. And I was careful," she tried to reassure him, touched by his distress on her behalf, but not convinced it was justified. One thing she was absolutely NOT afraid of was heights.

"How could Tom *let* you do something so dangerous!?" Harry exclaimed with an annoyed grimace. He had trusted his friend to take care of her while he was gone---and Tom let her put herself in danger! He frowned fiercely. "Where *is* Tom?" he called up to Shadow.

She bit her lip to stifle a grin. Silently, she raised one hand and pointed to her right---and up. And up.

There was Tom. Even higher in the tree than she was---maybe forty meters above the ground. Unlike Malista, he wasn't picking fruit or even pretending to be doing so. He was stretched out, face down on a wide branch, his arms and legs carelessly dangling limply over either side. His food sack was folded up under his cheek and he appeared to be napping.

Harry heard a snorting gasp, and turned to find Hudson unsuccessfully smothering a laugh. At Kim's glare, Hudson dropped to the ground and gave fervent attention to strapping on his antigrav boots.

"Harry?"

Kim looked up again. It was so high it made his neck hurt to tilt his head back so far.

"This sack is getting full. When you get your boots on, could you bring up a couple of others? I think---"

"I think you should come down from there. Slowly," Harry said, straining *not* to make it sound like an order. He knew if it did, she would obey him, and he didn't want to take that heavy-handed an approach. That just wasn't him and it wasn't the role he wanted to fulfill in her life.

"But, Harry, I can still reach a couple of dozen---" Malista began.

"Malista, please? You're making me very nervous," the ensign announced edgily.

She hesitated for a moment as if torn, then argued tentatively. "Harry, this isn't even as high as the trapeze or high wire! And I'm holding on. I'm not being careless," she insisted apologetically. Unfortunately, she was trying to use logic and rational argument on a man who was beyond it at the moment.

His jaw tightened. "When we work out on the holodeck, the safeties would catch you if you fell. What if you fall from up there?"

"You mean you wouldn't catch me?" Shadow teased mischievously, studying his reaction carefully.

"Malista!"

"Aw, Harry, don't get your knickers in a knot!" Tom called down drowsily. "She's perfectly safe. As long as she holds on. We didn't feel like waiting for you to get back with the antigravs. Besides, tree climbing is a human tradition. Especially if there's something in the tree to eat that makes it worthwhile. Didn't you ever climb trees as a kid?" He yawned mightily as he blinked sleepily down at his best friend.

Kim grudgingly let it go for the moment and sat down to don his own boots. He would have a few choice words to say to Tom Paris later---in private! It was all very well for Tom to say Malista needed to be encouraged to be more daring and open, but some things were just reckless. Paris should have more sense. And if anything happened to Malista Shadow---

Hudson, anti-grav boots in place, got to his feet, grabbed a couple of extra sacks and hit the controls. He floated to eye level with Malista, carefully dodging tree branches on his way up. He hovered there for a moment, surveying his surroundings. He noticed that Shadow looked increasingly uncomfortable as he drew closer. She tensed, almost as if she expected him to say or do something hostile.

The ensign wouldn't have claimed to be a friend of Shadow's, but he had become a friendly acquaintance when she'd been working third shift in the Security Office. More friendly on his part than hers, but still.... Her reaction was a little out of line. He made a mental note to ask Ethan Simms what was up. His partner usually knew what was going on. People tended to talk to him easily.

Hudson's dark brown eyes met Malista's with a hint of gentle concern. "He's just worried about you. Don't get mad at him if he doesn't express it well." His was the voice of experience objectively offering amicable advice.

She smiled at him tentatively and exchanged her full sack for one of his empty ones. "Thanks. I know."

Hudson floated down and gently deposited the fruit on the ground beneath the tree, then levitated up among the branches and began to fill his own sack. He discreetly kept his back turned toward Malista as Kim drifted up to join her, anticipating a showdown of some kind between the two.

As soon as their eyes were on a level, Kim opened his mouth to reprimand her for carelessness. Malista didn't want to argue with Harry. With unaccustomed boldness born of a buoyant mood, she grabbed his collar to pull him close and captured his mouth in a lingering kiss, nibbling on his full lower lip as the ensign cooperated fully and with enthusiasm. He was enjoying the fact that she was the one initiating the display of affection. It was the first time in a long time that she'd done so.

She let go of his collar and ran her fingers up his neck to card them through his thick black hair. She kissed him just behind the ear before returning her attention to his mouth. "Hmmmm. This is nice. Oh, Harry, you have the most wonderful lips---"

"What have I told you about PDA's, Sis?" Tom complained dramatically. He snapped up to a sitting position with a careless grace that made Kim cringe for his friend's safety.

The pilot wasn't even using his hands to hold on! Kim hoped that Paris was aware of the precariousness of his perch. He almost wished Torres was here. Tom might listen to her if she urged him to be more careful. Maybe. More likely he'd have the Chief Engineer climbing trees as well.

"It wouldn't *be* a Public Display of Affection if *you* had the sense and good manners to keep your eyes closed," Malista remarked scornfully as she drew back and studied Harry's face fondly, searching for any hint that he was truly upset with her. "No one else can see us up here." She ran the tip of her index finger along Harry's lower lip playfully.

Tom yawned robustly once more, this time stretching his arms high over his head then rolling his shoulders. "Details, details. What about Mikel? He's a Security Officer. At any given moment, he could snap on the restraints and take you both into custody!"

"Mikel is *not* looking, sir!" Hudson called over his shoulder, not bothering to hide his grin since no one could see his face. "I see nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

"Good judgment, Ensign! Keep up the good work!" Paris retorted pompously. He stretched up a lazy hand, snagged a piece of fruit, and dropped it into his bag. "That's one," he announced smugly.

"Thank you so much, Lieutenant," Mikel replied with mock gratitude. "It's always my goal to perform any and every assignment to the best of my ability and satisfy my superior officers---and even the not so superior ones!" He knew the helmsman well enough to know he wouldn't take offense at the wisecrack. He was right. Tom snickered his appreciation of the witticism, but didn't reply to it.

Harry Kim hovered on a level with Malista, fascinated by her impish smile as she listened to the exchange. She didn't seem upset that Harry had reprimanded her for climbing the tree. In fact, it seemed to please her. She also appeared to enjoy the mock arguing with both Tom and Harry. She darted a quick glance at Harry to gauge his reaction, as if she wanted to find out if he was seriously angry with her defiance of his request for her to climb down.

He had the feeling that if he frowned at all, she would immediately give in and let him take her to the ground to don her anti-grav boots. But he also had the feeling it would be like caging a wild bird just as it was about to take flight. He took it as a good sign that she hadn't immediately yielded to his opinion. Maybe she was beginning to trust in him enough to disagree with him.

Of course, she'd had Tom's permission to climb, so maybe she was just trying to make them both happy. Now there was an idea that seemed doomed to failure! Harry gave her a reluctant grin, snatched another kiss, and set to work. Sometimes a guy couldn't win. And when he couldn't, it was smarter to give in. For the time being. Besides, Malista was more relaxed than she'd been in days and seemed to be having fun.

He didn't want to think about it right now. He wasn't going to risk upsetting her again. He still hadn't figured out for sure what had upset her the last time. Nevertheless, he made sure he stayed close enough to grab her if she lost her balance.

"Two," said Tom. Another piece of fruit plopped into his sack. He yawned again.

"Don't strain yourself, Paris," Kim taunted. His friend sniffed and ignored him. Malista chuckled under her breath, eyes darting from one man to the other as she waited for the next volley.

************************

Mikel Hudson didn't have to go looking for Ethan Simms to ask him about Malista Shadow. Ethan came looking for Mikel. And found him sitting at the desk in his quarters downloading a novel from the ship's database.

After he'd finished his temporary assignment as a fruit picker, Hudson had been invited to join Paris, Kim, and Shadow for an impromptu picnic in the shade of the fruit trees beside the lake. He'd spent time socially with Paris and Kim before so he was familiar with their humor and easy manner, but he'd been caught offguard by the change in Malista Shadow.

When he'd known her in Security during their duty shifts, he would have described her as cold, distant, and professional. Behind her back, she'd often been referred to as The Ice Princess. She didn't make small talk. In fact, he could hardly remember hearing her say more than two unnecessary words.

After Ethan Simms had befriended her, as much as she'd let him, the coldness had eased up a little. At least to the point where she appeared to acknowledge Hudson's right to exist on the same ship by giving him a civil smile whenever she saw him. But usually only if she saw him with Simms. He had concluded that she didn't want or need friends so he'd been polite, but made no overtures to deepen the relationship or get to know her better.

Seeing her with Paris and Kim, had been a revelation. She fit right into their

comfortable companionship, her sense of humor surging to the forefront as she used her agile wits to defend herself and Harry Kim from Paris' playful barbs. And when Harry Kim had evidently experienced a slip of the tongue and called her 'Cookie', she'd giggled! She'd actually giggled. And then giggled again when Kim refused to explain the reference to Paris who'd pouted for at least five minutes, claiming the pair were ganging up on him and spouting a playful diatribe on the subject of disloyal sisters and traitorous best friends.

Until that precise moment, Hudson had never really noticed that The Ice Princess was remarkably pretty. Beautiful, in fact---when she forgot herself and that others were watching her. And she certainly knew her way around a replicator! The lunch had been plentiful and astoundingly tasty. Paris had frequently bragged on her cooking skills to anyone who would listen. It was wonderful to find out from first hand experience that he hadn't exaggerated.

Commander Chakotay had wandered by and was promptly challenged to a tree climbing contest by Tom Paris. When Paris revealed that he had no intention of climbing himself, that he wanted Shadow to act as his proxy and race Chakotay up the tree, Ensign Kim objected loudly. The contest was called off forthwith.

Malista protested that she thought she could win. Harry Kim frowned his disapproval---and that immediately settled the issue as far as she was concerned. It also provided Paris with fodder for facetiously badgering Shadow about her browbeaten status and ribbing Kim about his secretly domineering nature. Shadow entered into the argument in defense of Kim. Paris eventually retired from the lists, smiling smugly at both of them. Hudson had a feeling there was a subtext to that whole topic of conversation, but he didn't have the key to decode it so he'd decided not to worry about it.

Chakotay had departed to check on the other food gathering teams, shaking his head over the pilot's scandalous suggestions for sporting events other than tree climbing that could be incorporated into the harvesting activities. The berry toss, the tuber dive, the tree vault, a seed expectoration contest....they all sounded messy and a few of them rather dangerous to Ensign Kim, although Shadow encouraged Paris to reveal his wildest flights of fancy and occasionally topped them with one of her own.

Hudson had sporadically entered into the repartee, but mostly he sat back and enjoyed listening to the other three. Eventually, the conversation had turned to literature, not surprisingly considering it was an avid avocation for both Paris and Shadow. They were remarkably well read and the two of them, joined by Kim had dived into a detailed discussion---or debate---about a story called "A Tale of Two Cities" by someone named Dickens and the concept of self-sacrifice as opposed to enlightened self-interest and the greater good.

Hudson had found himself pondering which point of view he would take and their conversation about the novel had inspired Mikel to read it. That was what he was downloading when his partner walked into his quarters.

"Hi, Ethe, what's up?"

His friend looked faintly anxious, which was unusual enough to capture Hudson's full attention. Simms hadn't worn that expression since he'd finally confessed to writing anonymous love letters to Janine Lamont.

Mikel paused the computer and sat up straight. "What's the matter?"

"Uh, Mik, I sort of have this problem..."

"Sit down. Tell me about it."

Simms sat---but not still. He moved restlessly, seeming at a loss for words.

"What's the matter, Ethe?" Hudson leaned toward his friend, trying to read his expression.

"I'm trying to think how to say it."

Hudson pushed the annoying curl of brown hair off his forehead with a sigh of exasperation. "Just say it. Always works for me."

Simms sighed. "It's not my story to tell. Someone told me about a problem, a friend of mine is having and I'm not sure how much I'm supposed to tell anyone else. It's sort of a privacy issue." He raked his fingers through his own auburn curls. "How do I decide how much to tell?"

"I assume you want to tell me?"

His friend nodded.

"Then tell me anything. I can keep a secret. Discretion is my middle name. Mikel Discretion Hudson. Who's got a problem?"

"Malista Shadow."

Hudson raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Now there's a coincidence, Ethe. I was thinking about her today and wondering what's going on with her. I planned to ask you

about it."

"The food gathering parties?"

"Yeah. I was working in the same group with her, Kim, and Paris. We had a picnic lunch together afterwards."

Simms brow puckered. "Did she say anything?"

"Anything like what? About what?" Hudson queried. "After she got used to my being there, she seemed fine. But there was something---something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something lurking in the back of her eyes."

Simms nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. A haunted look. That's how I felt when we were working Gamma shift and I ran into her in the shuttlebay. Except now I know why she was so---antsy. Someone's been harassing her."

"Harassing her? How?" Hudson was mildly surprised. It wasn't a common problem on starships, but then Voyager wasn't exactly the usual starship either. "We are talking about sexual harassment here, right? You don't mean Kim---"

"No!" his friend denied hastily. "Somebody has been making suggestive remarks, sending her messages on her terminal, maybe even getting physical. Physically threatening."

"Has she reported it?"

"No."

"Why not?" Hudson demanded.

"I'm not sure. Diane wasn't sure who was doing it. Gerron got Malista to tell him about the computer messages, but she didn't let him see them. She's just been deleting them as they came in. Diane is sure it's Starfleet personnel that are picking on her. The Maquis are upset about it. They've been keeping an eye on Malista, but they haven't been able to pinpoint the source of the trouble." Simms seemed seriously disturbed at the idea. "Gerron told Diane that Malista gets real jumpy around the Starfleet men. Almost all of them."

Hudson nodded. "I noticed that. When I approached her today, she acted like I was going to hit her---or insult her."

"Maybe because someone else has?"

"But not me! And not *all* the Starfleet guys! Why would she expect it from the 'Fleeters?" Mikel asked somewhat indignantly.

"Maybe because some of them have done something? Or because she's Maquis?" Ethan conjectured. At Hudson's questioning look, he continued. "She may think no one would take her claim of harassment seriously. In the last few weeks, there have been some stories floating around---you know, about the Maquis women. Their sexual appetites." Ethan flushed to the roots of his dark auburn hair.

Hudson suppressed a smile. "There are always those kinds of stories. But do you mean that someone has been talking about Malista specifically? I don't believe it could be true. She doesn't have a roving eye. And if she's supposed to be some kind of sex fiend, what about the last three years? Or did whoever started this talk claim to have an explanation for why she just turned into one?"

If anything, the younger man's flush deepened. "I heard some of the talk, Mik. It's really nasty. There's a malicious edge to it---not like the usual idle talk. They say she and Dishon were---you know. That he kept her fully occupied. Dominated her. And when he died---she went looking for a new owner. Someone who could advance her career. Somebody has been spreading the story that Malista went after Tom Paris to try to get on the captain's good side. And when that didn't work because of Torres, she made a play for Harry Kim. That she'd do anything to get in good with the Senior Officers."

"Come on! Wouldn't she go after Chakotay instead of Paris? He's the top male officer. Naw. I don't buy it. I don't think she has that much guile or ambition." Hudson snorted.

"I didn't say I believed it," Simms protested. "I said that's what someone has been feeding the rumor mill."

"Somebody with a grudge against Malista?" Hudson said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"George Natwick?" Ethan guessed, then answered his own question. "Naw, I don't think so. It's not George's style. If he was going to bother to insult you, he'd do it to your face, not start rumors behind your back."

"Someone using Malista to hurt someone else?" Hudson hypothesized.

"Like Harry Kim?"

"Or, more likely, Tom Paris. There are more people who still don't like him. The morons. Some people would require brain surgery to change their minds about anything." Hudson turned back to his computer terminal and canceled the download. "Let's see if we can narrow down our field of suspects. You said you suspected something was going on when we were working Gamma shift and you saw her in the shuttlebay. Now, who was around during Gamma shift the week Shadow began looking frazzled?"

A list of names of those on duty during that time period began to scroll down the screen. Mikel hit the pause button and pointed to a particular name. "Hmm. I spy---something suspicious. He and Dishon had a bit of a problem as I recall. Didn't they both wind up with a loss of privileges and doing extra duty? What do you think, Ethan?"

"Do we need to tell Lieutenant Tuvok about this, Mik?"

Hudson shook his head. "Right now, we only have a theory. Let's get some proof---or at least a few more facts to go on. Someone other than Malista is bound to know something---facts beyond the rumors. So keep your ears open. Not that I need to tell you that. Why does everyone tell you everything?"

"Because I listen?" Ethan speculated modestly.

"Naw," Hudson drawled. "It's that boyish charm---or those kelly green eyes. You look trustworthy."

Ethan punched his friend's shoulder. "Aw, c'mon!"

************************

Torres did not understand why Voyager's systems seemed to be involved in a conspiracy to complicate her scheduling of Engineering duties. She tried to explain her conspiracy theory to Tom Paris during their shared lunch break.

His first response was that if she insisted on anthropomorphizing the ship, as he himself was known to do, then this display of temperament on Voyager's part provided conclusive and positive proof of his theory that the ship was, in fact, feminine in gender and disposition.

After he'd finished whining about the bruise beginning to form on his upper arm, he'd apologized and listened more respectfully as she told her tale of woe. He even sympathized with her and offered her a back rub, but she wisely suspected him of ulterior motives and turned him down---for the time being. Then she returned to duty.

The power coupling problem had been diagnosed and corrected---over a period of weeks---which had thrown a hydrospanner into the scheduling for all other repair and maintenance priorities. No sooner had that crisis been resolved than the environmental control systems in various sections of the ship decided to randomly develop glitches. The hydroponics bay wasn't humid enough. The messhall was too hot. Now the Science labs were reporting fluctuating temperatures that interfered with accurate results in the experiments being conducted there.

Torres ran her eye down the list of repair requests and summoned her repair crews. Malista Shadow was assigned to the Biology Department. Torres thought she caught a flash of discomfort when she made the assignment so she kept Malista behind when she dismissed the other crews. "Malista, is something wrong?"

Her stoic mask firmly in place, Shadow looked B'Elanna right in the face and lied through clenched teeth. "No, ma'am."

Torres read the prevarication in the green eyes, but didn't know what she should do about it. "Dismissed."

She couldn't help the younger woman if she wouldn't ask for help. Or could she? As Malista walked away, B'Elanna flagged down Crewman Gerron. He came to her side, his own eyes following Shadow as she left the Engineering section.

B'Elanna had noticed that Gerron Tem had been escorting or trailing after Malista Shadow for days. She would have thought it was just a crush, but she had somehow gotten the impression that Gerron was interested in Megan Delaney. So why was he following Malista? And watching her all the time? Though no one had told her anything outright, Torres was forming her own theories. "Gerron, I want you to go check out the repair work done on the Biology Department's ecosystem sphere."

The young Bajoran squinted at her, unsure if he should speak up or not. "Wasn't that work done last week?"

"Yes. But there's no harm in checking it out again," Torres said blandly. "Preventive maintenance."

Gerron studied the half Klingon skeptically. She wasn't normally known for wasting time---or a pair of willing hands without a very good reason.

"Malista will be working there. She may need your help with the environmental controls," the lieutenant added. Her face remained determinedly neutral.

Gerron nodded. Now he understood. As the Chief Engineer and a supervising Starfleet Officer, Torres might not have been informed about what the Maquis were doing to protect Malista or why it was necessary, but somehow she had figured out that something was going on. And she didn't object to his assumption of unofficial and self-appointed bodyguard duties. He went to get his tool kit.

************************

Lieutenant Trent Salaka, the Biology Department Supervisor, was leaving just as Malista arrived. "Hello," he said, a bright smile of welcome warming his hazel eyes. "Here to take care of our little problem?"

She hesitantly returned his smile. Trent had been one of the men she'd dated during the week in which she'd been trying to regain Harry's attention and make him jealous. He'd taken her to a play as a favor to Jenny Delaney.

He stood back to let her pass, saying as he did so, "Since we couldn't get anything much done in this icebox, most of my people are taking a late lunch break. Or early dinner break. Whatever. Give me a call if I can help with anything."

"Thanks," she said, moving past him and into the lab. The door slid closed behind her. It was very cool. Much too cool for humans to feel comfortable working there in regulation uniforms. She started for the environmental controls on the opposite wall. As she reached up to swing the access panel open, she heard a slight sound to her right and glanced in that direction.

Ensign Laro Longoria was standing behind the computer console, running simulation models on the screen. He smirked as his eyes roved over Shadow's body, which was well-defined by her form-fitting uniform as she stretched her hands above her head to reach the panel latch.

She caught her breath, decided to ignore him, and sincerely hoped he would return the favor. She returned her attention to her assignment. The panel swung open and she looked over the controls and circuitry, trying to isolate the problem. It could be the thermostat itself or the.....

She felt a hand caress her right buttock and whirled to face him. She hadn't heard his approach. Her hand came up to shove him away. He caught her wrist and held it between them.

"Still playing games, chica?" Longoria purred. He brought his other hand up toward her face. She ducked back away from him. As she did so, the shoulder of her uniform caught on the corner of the open panel door. Her jerking movement caused the material to tear, leaving a three inch gap and a long, deep gouge in the top of her shoulder. She hardly felt the pain. She was focusing on breathing, wondering what she should do next.

When George Natwick had confronted her like this, it had been in a public corridor. Any shout for assistance would have been heard and responded to promptly. In this soundproofed lab, no one would hear her shout---unless she hit her commbadge and called for Security. Was she scared enough to justify that reaction? What would everyone say? What would Harry think? Was Longoria just testing her the way George had? Surely he wouldn't really...

Her eyes dropped to the floor. "Leave me alone." Her words were barely audible. It was all she could think of to say. She couldn't move away. She was pinned between the bulkhead and his body, trapped by the lab tables on either side of them.

"What if I don't want to? What are you going to do? Tell your boyfriend? It's against regulations to use your rank for personal reasons. Come on, Malista! I've heard stories about you Maquis women. Your savage sex lives. A woman who looks like you couldn't possibly be an innocent. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I like games. Make my dreams come true. Didn't you make Dishon a happy man for three years? He was so protective of you. He wouldn't let me near you. No one was allowed to touch. Or even look. He was very jealous, wasn't he? Too bad about poor Niko. But no matter how good he was, I bet I could teach you a few things. Or you could teach me!"

She tried to pull her arm away. His grasp tightened painfully. His eyes played over her face and he leaned toward her. She could feel his breath on her skin.

She turned her face away, straining to get away from him. "Don't!"

"Come on. You know you'll like it. I've heard stories about you. Niko didn't want to share. I'm more generous. I don't mind sharing. Kim doesn't have to know if you want to keep it a secret." He slid his hand from her hip to her waist and tried to pull her closer. Her free hand shoved against his shoulder. That didn't work. She was frantically trying to remember what she'd learned about fighting in close quarters in her self-defense class.

How serious was he? How scared was she? She wondered if she could raise her leg enough to reach her boot and get to the....

The hiss of the opening door froze both of them in place. Longoria's eyes guiltily darted toward the entrance. It was Gerron Tem.

"Let her go." His low voice was a dangerous snarl. The Bajoran cub looked surprisingly dangerous, almost feral.

With a casual air of contempt for both of them, Longoria stepped back wearing a nasty smile. He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender as he returned to his computer console. "Sorry. Didn't mean to trespass. I didn't know you had a prior claim, too."

Gerron's eyes, mere slits, flew to the laceration on Malista's shoulder, took in the torn uniform, and the fact that---though her icy mask of control was locked firmly in place---small tremors racked her body from head to toe. He moved protectively between Longoria and Shadow, shielding her from even having to look at the other man. "Do you want to go to Sickbay and have that taken care of?" he queried in a low voice, concerned by her pallor.

"No, let's finish this first." Her voice was shaky, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Well, if you don't need me," Longoria sneered, "I think I'll go get a snack. It's impossible to think in this cold anyway. Things seem kind of---frigid to me." With that parting shot, he strode out of the lab.

Gerron made a move to go after the man, but Malista caught his arm. "Don't. He's not worth it."

"Malista, you have to report this---"

"I can't."

"Why not?" the Bajoran demanded.

"I don't want Harry or Tom to know about this," she said, looking through her toolbox for a tool she couldn't seem to find.

"Why not?" he repeated.

"B-Because...because I d-d-don't," she said finally. "Oh, d-damn." Her shaking hand went to her forehead. "What am I looking for?" she asked him tremulously, her eyes pleading with him for understanding and agreement.

He pulled a stool over and pushed her down onto it. "I'll take care of this. Sit there and calm down."

As he worked on the controls, she tried to decide what she should do now. She didn't see Longoria that often. Surely, she could avoid him. She would just make sure never to be alone with him. This wasn't a big problem. Not really. Gerron wouldn't tell. Not if she asked him not to. "Gerron?"

"Yes?" He closed the panel. It had been the sensor in the thermostat that was causing the problem. It had only taken a moment to replace it. The temperature was already improving. It was getting warmer. He looked at her.

"I don't want anyone to know about this. I'm going to handle this myself."

"How?"

"I don't know. I---I'll stay away from him. I've managed to before. I haven't seen him for a week at least."

"This is a small ship. You can't avoid him forever. What's his problem anyway?"

She smiled weakly. "I think he's heard too many stories about oversexed Maquis women and their erotic exploits."

The Bajoran shook his head. "I wish I knew how those stories got started. If we spent as much time---" He paused to censor himself. "Let's just say we wouldn't have had time for fighting if all those stories were true."

"Yeah." Her mind was far away from him at the moment.

"Malista? Next stop, Sickbay." He cupped her elbow in his palm and helped her to her feet.

"Oh, I don't think---"

"It could get infected---"

"No! The Doctor would be upset and report---"

Gerron almost growled in frustration. "You have to change your uniform. Somebody will notice that." He pointed to the ragged, blood-soaked tear. He was afraid to push her too hard. She was so tense now, she seemed brittle. As if the careless flick of a finger could shatter her into tiny shards. He'd seen women with that look in the Bajoran refugee camps. Women who'd been victims of Cardassian brutality. He'd hoped never to see it again.

Her eyes dropped to her shoulder. She'd forgotten. "Then I'll go to my quarters. Now if I just had a dermal regenerator---?" She smiled at him hopefully.

He scowled at her. "I suppose I could swipe one from the emergency kit in the corridor near the cargo bay. Well, come on then." It was the best he could do for now.

"And Gerron?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me you won't tell Tom or Harry---or B'Elanna?" she added hastily.

He had no problem with that request. "I promise I won't tell Paris, Kim, or Torres," he vowed solemnly. Of course, he had carefully chosen his words. He hadn't promised not to tell *anyone*. "I'll meet you at your quarters with the regenerator."

************************

Malista underestimated the number of watching eyes. Someone had seen the pair leaving the deserted lab, and reported it to a friend. Within twenty minutes of their departure from the Biology Lab, yet another rumor began winging its way through the ship.

It took longer for Shadow to heal herself than she'd estimated. The gash was quickly erased by the dermal regenerator. She had a spare uniform in her closet. It should have taken no more than five minutes.

But when she'd changed her uniform, she'd become aware of the large, perfectly defined, finger-shaped bruises forming on her forearm. Healing those had required a little more time and care. One glimpse of those and Harry wouldn't accept silence as an answer. The extra time required led to even more speculation.

Another tattletale soon spread a report of seeing Gerron and Malista leaving her quarters, some *thirty minutes* after Gerron had been seen entering them. Thirty minutes was not explainable with an innocent excuse that anyone could come up with readily. As the rumors made the rounds, they grew and became so distorted as to be unrecognizable, as rumors often do.

The Maquis version of the tale was that Gerron had assisted Malista in fighting off a number of Starfleet crewmen who had been attempting to sexually assault her. The evidence? The torn uniform, the cut on her shoulder, and her distressed and disheveled appearance. There was no report filed because, after all, she was a Maquis. The Maquis still had a tendency to want to handle their problems outside of the usual channels. Or possibly she didn't want to make waves that would affect her boyfriend's career as a 'Fleeter? Or perhaps she didn't want Harry Kim to find out because he would never believe her side of the story and she didn't want to risk losing him?

The Starfleet crew members came up with a different version. With the same evidence available, they speculated that Gerron had sexually assaulted Malista Shadow and that she hadn't reported it because he was a fellow Maquis or because he had threatened her. Or she feared Harry Kim, Tom Paris, or both would go after Gerron.

Those who liked Kim and disliked Shadow also held forth a theory that it wasn't assault at all. That Malista had been cheating on Kim with Gerron and they'd gotten a little carried away. This story was slightly more widely accepted since there was additional evidence. Gerron and Malista were seen leaving her quarters after thirty minutes---if not more---alone. During Harry Kim's duty shift.

The slight level of tension between the two factions increased to a more uncomfortable level and threatened to erupt into something more than hard feelings and suspicion.

*************************

George Natwick was sitting alone with his morning coffee when Malista Shadow and Gerron Tem approached his table. With a welcoming smile, the ensign stood and pulled out a chair for her. As she seated herself, the Bajoran excused himself and went to sit with his Maquis friends. The boy's behavior reminded Natwick rather forcefully of a bodyguard dropping off his client in a safe zone.

"Good morning," Malista whispered. Her impassive mask was in place, but he sensed she wasn't sure of her reception.

"Malista. How are you?" A casual approach seemed best.

"Fine. I'm fine. And you?" Her tone was of polite interest.

Natwick had never been one for feigning polite interest, but he recognized it when he heard it. She was stalling as she tried to think how to phrase her request. "Malista, can I help you with something?" Blunt. Too blunt. She reacted with a slight start, almost a flinch. He was afraid she was going to retreat without saying anything more. He could all but see her mental gymnastics as she considered her options.

"Oh." She bit her lip, caught herself, and tugged her lip free of her teeth with one hand. His gaze followed her hand. "Harry doesn't like it when I do that," she explained breathlessly. "Habits are hard to break. I keep forgetting."

The big man fought to keep any hint of bitterness from showing in his smile at the mention of Kim's name and his role in Malista's life. "Malista, why did you want to talk to me?" He softened his tone, trying to sound as inviting and helpful as possible.

She took a deep breath and plunged right in. "You remember I was in your self-defense class?" He nodded encouragingly. "The other day---" She cleared her throat. "Well, I was wondering---"

"Get to the point. I can't help you if you don't ask," he stated gruffly, his slight amount of patience exhausted.

His bluntness was almost comforting. At least George was behaving predictably in character. She smiled ruefully. "I have a problem," she admitted. "The other day, I---needed to act---I felt threatened, but I just froze. And I thought when I took the class that it would help me to know what to do---"

"It will only help you if you practice. You have to practice until it becomes instinctive. Tell me what happened." The muscles in his jaw were painfully tight as he strove to keep his expression impassive and his voice level to avoid frightening her back into her shell. Those sitting in the mess hall weren't close enough to overhear and couldn't read the expressions on either face, though they were watching closely.

More grist for the gossip mill. Did Kim know Shadow was meeting Natwick for breakfast?

She was choosing her words carefully. "Someone made me feel---threatened. And I froze."

"You want to tell me who?" he asked. She shook her head. "Damn. There goes my exercise for the day." He deliberately flexed one bulging bicep, then rippled his powerful pectoral muscles. It was an impressive sight. A few of the watchers quickly turned their attention back to their meals, not wanting to attract his notice.

His actions startled a smile out of her as she caught his meaning, but she shook her head reprovingly. "George, I want to handle this myself. But why didn't I do something? If I was scared? I know the moves. You know I do." Her breakfast forgotten, her hands fluttered nervously.

In an effort to calm her, Natwick reached across the table and clasped one slender hand firmly in his own big paw. "Malista, if you're thinking too much, you won't react. Did you second guess yourself? What exactly did he---"

"You don't need to know that." No room for argument with that tone.

'Damn!' he thought. 'She's stubborn.' He nodded acceptance. "Up close?"

She nodded. "Very close." She swallowed hard as she remembered how trapped she'd felt when cornered by Longoria.

"Did you raise your knee?" Natwick asked.

"You mean---? No." She blushed at the thought. "I told you I just froze. I almost used ---I almost drew a weapon."

Though not often or easily surprised, this simple statement floored the big ensign. He let go of her hand and leaned back in his chair. Once the rumors had begun flying, he'd expected something to happen. But not this. "A weapon? Was the threat severe enough to justify using deadly force?"

She looked at him blankly. "I don't know. How can you tell?"

Natwick clenched and unclenched his fists as he tried to come up with a comprehensive answer that would cover all the bases, yet not lead to major trouble for the guileless young woman. "Was your life in danger? Or someone else's life? That would justify using deadly force. But normally, in a threatening situation, things don't escalate from verbal to deadly without some warning in between."

She seemed puzzled, but desperate to understand. "So you mean I should warn him before---"

"What I mean is, deadly force---using a weapon is a last resort, unless it's a phaser set on stun?" She shook her head. He didn't ask what weapon. He didn't want to know. If she told him, his sense of duty as a Security Officer would dictate that he report the incident to Lt. Tuvok.

So instead he tried to think of some guidelines that would ensure her safety without leading her into overreaction. "Malista, confrontations usually grow in intensity. You should try to deal with the problem before it reaches critical mass. You say this guy---whoever he was---made you feel threatened?"

"Yes. He, uh, crowded me, trapped me," she stammered.

"Did he hurt you?"

She flinched from the intensity of his low voice. She wasn't afraid of George, but she could easily see why others would be. "No. But what if he'd done more than just---what if he'd---"

"Did he get physical? Grab you? Hit you?" Natwick's breathing was unsteady, as was his control on his temper. He hated to think of anyone threatening her. Hurting her. It made him want to pound something---or someone.

"No. Well, he grabbed me." Unthinkingly, she rubbed her wrist as she recalled the incident as if reliving the experience. "I was trapped. Sort of. I couldn't get away from him. We were---there was no one else there. I couldn't decide what to do. I told him to leave me alone. But he wouldn't. The next thing I thought of was the weapon. I was trying to think if I could reach it---"

"Hold it. You skipped a couple of steps there," Natwick interrupted, adopting his self-defense instructor's tone. "First of all, you warn him verbally. Strongly. If that doesn't work, you try mild physical resistance. Push him away. If that doesn't work, bring up your knee. It's an old trick, but it works. Or do whatever it takes to get away from him. Then run like hell. If you can't do any of that, well, that's the time to go for a weapon. But you have to be able to justify your use of force. That there was no other option."

Her eyes locked on his, she nodded as if memorizing his statements for future reference.

The ensign wasn't sure he wanted to know, but had to ask. "So if you froze, how did you get out of the situation?"

"Someone else came in and he backed off." Unthinkingly her eyes darted toward Gerron.

Natwick immediately realized the truth behind some of the rumors he'd been hearing. So Gerron was the white knight in this scenario. How unexpected. How unlikely.

How unfortunate.

Natwick would have traded every replicator ration at his disposal to have been the one on the scene to rescue Malista. For several different reasons. But his feelings weren't the issue here. This wasn't solving her problem. He dragged his attention back to the scared young lady before him.

"Malista, we've talked about this before. Controlled fear can be an asset in a fighting situation. It makes you cautious, keeps you safe, and motivates you. Controlling it is the key. When this person made you feel threatened, what exactly did you do? Other than think about the weapon. Did you tell him to back off?"

"N-n-no," she stuttered. "N-n-n-not exactly. I said 'Leave me alone'."

George snorted impatiently. "In that mousy tone of voice? And you expected him to believe you were serious?"

Her brow creased in an indignant frown. "I didn't know what else to say. I thought anyone would understand 'Leave me alone' as a negative response."

Natwick shook his head. "He probably thought you were being coy. Remember when I tried to throw a scare into you? To test you? As I recall you said something like 'Back off. Leave me alone.' And you said it firmly. Then you told me that if I didn't back off, I might be able to take you down---but you'd hurt me. That it would cost me to come after you. And Malista, *I* believed you." His lips twitched in an admiring and fondly reminiscent smile. "And I'm not easy to fool."

"That was different," she mumbled.

"Why? What was different? I made you feel threatened, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I was angry. I was furious at the way you'd tried to humiliate Harry and I---" She paused, wonderingly. "And I didn't lose control of my temper."

He grinned at her proudly. "No, you didn't. You used your anger and channeled it to help you handle your fear. Fear can do that for you. You can let it make you weak and ineffective, or you can use it to give you the strength to act to deal with the fear. You have to take control of your emotions. You turn the fear into anger and use it."

"Turn the fear into anger, and use it," Malista said in an undertone. Her eyes glinted as she beamed a radiant smile at him. He was dazzled by it. "Thanks, George. You're a good friend. I appreciate your help." She leapt to her feet and scurried away, dumping her uneaten breakfast, and collecting Gerron on her way out the door.

"I'll settle for that," Natwick sighed as he returned to picking at his breakfast. "Since I don't seem to have any other choice."

*************************


	3. Chapter 3

*************************

There had been no further telemetry received from the orbiting satellites. Voyager had just entered orbit around the second uninhabited planet in the system.

Without warning, a bright white ball of dancing light about two feet in diameter appeared on the bridge. It hovered directly in front of the viewscreen for a split second then began a slow circuit of the bridge stations beginning with the Engineering station then traveling toward Security.

"Intruder alert," Tuvok stated, hitting the alarm controls manually since the automated system hadn't been triggered.

Tom Paris reflexively jumped to his feet, standing behind the conn position, vigilant and ready to move at the captain's order. Or to put himself between the intruder and the captain, who happened to be standing about four feet from his right shoulder and slightly behind him.

"Captain, it seems to be a probe of some kind," Harry Kim reported. "It seems to be taking readings. I've never seen this kind of energy signature before though. And this is not the only one. I'm reading twenty such probes located throughout the ship." Harry tuned the internal sensors to take as many readings as possible as the thing passed his position.

"Everyone stay where you are," Janeway ordered.

The gleaming beam reminded Harry of a spotlight. It seemed to be taking a personnel survey. It stopped briefly at each station, hovered momentarily in front of each person, but didn't seem interested in what they were doing. Their movement, or lack of movement, didn't seem to affect the probe in any way.

As the glowing sphere approached the conn position, Tom Paris watched it suspiciously. Kathryn Janeway was studying the light intently looking for clues to understanding its purpose.

The white luminescence suddenly intensified in brightness, causing all those present to instinctively shield their eyes---everyone except the captain and the helmsman. The radiance had stopped moving, hovering in midair at a point equidistant between the two of them. They stood staring into the brilliance as if transfixed. Then as abruptly as it had made its appearance, the probe disappeared.

In that instant, Tom Paris and Kathryn Janeway closed their eyes and crumpled to the deck like marionettes with their strings cut. Chakotay was beside the captain in a heartbeat, two fingers on her carotid artery, checking her pulse. She was dazed and seemed disoriented. "Captain?"

"What---what happened?" She was blinking her eyes rapidly as if in some pain. "I can't see---can't focus. Spots."

Tuvok was checking on Paris' condition. The lieutenant hadn't moved or made a sound. He was unconscious. Tuvok hit his commbadge. "Transporter Room Two, medical emergency. Lock onto Lt. Paris' commbadge and transport him to Sickbay at once." Paris disappeared in the transporter beam as the captain got to her feet with Chakotay's help. "In my opinion, you should go to Sickbay as well, Captain," Tuvok suggested.

It was a measure of Janeway's grogginess that she didn't attempt to argue. She nodded and leaned heavily on Chakotay as he slipped her arm over his shoulder and his arm around her waist to support her. "Feel dizzy," she mumbled.

"Tuvok, you have the bridge," Chakotay ordered as he led his captain into the turbolift. "See if you can find out what that was and its source."

***************************

Ethan Simms and Mikel Hudson had just arrived in Engineering. They were off duty and hoped to get a chance to talk to Malista Shadow on her lunch break. They were spotted on arrival by B'Elanna Torres who waved them into her office.

"What are you two doing here? I didn't think we had any tours scheduled today." Her words sounded sharp, but her smile robbed them of any sting.

"We were looking for Malista," Ethan said.

"Business or pleasure?" Torres said. Her smile was gone. Security Officers looking for one of *her* crew? And she didn't know anything about it? Torres tended to be very possessive and protective of her crew. She could yell at them---and frequently did---but Kahless help anyone else who did the same.

Simms and Hudson exchanged looks. "It's both," Hudson admitted.

"Do you know what's going on?" the chief engineer demanded.

"What do you mean?" Simms asked cautiously.

Torres growled under her breath. "Never mind. She ought to be on her way back from the ship's library. Now that she finally got the consoles working properly, the environmental controls are acting up. I want to know what the----" She glanced up to find Simms and Hudson staring at her. "Never mind. But if I don't find out what's going on, and pretty damn *soon*, I am *not* going to be happy! Is that clear?" She jabbed a finger in their direction.

"Yes, Lieutenant," the security officers replied in unison, the tone of their voices carefully neutral though neither had any idea what Torres was talking about or what they were supposed to do about it. Better safe than sorry as far as irate Chief Engineers were concerned.

"There she is," Hudson said as he and Simms turned toward the exit.

Shadow and Gerron were just coming into Main Engineering when the intruder alert sounded. Almost simultaneously, a bright sphere of white light appeared near the warp core and began to scan the area.

"What is that?" Hudson whispered. There was no reply from his partner. He shot a look at his friend.

Simms was motionless, his eyes fixed on the object. Hudson's eyes darted around the Engineering section. Shadow and Nicoletti were in the same condition. Everyone else seemed to be normally curious, but no more than that. After approximately one minute, the glowing sphere vanished.

Nicoletti sank into the chair behind her, holding her head as she moaned. Shadow and Simms fell to the deck, unconscious. Torres called for an emergency beamout for the two of them and asked Hudson to escort Nicoletti to Sickbay. He was glad to oblige. He wanted to check on his partner anyway.

***************************

There was standing room only in Sickbay. Six biobeds were occupied by unconscious crewmen: Tom Paris, Malista Shadow, Megan Delaney, Janine Lamont, Ethan Simms, and Sven Haldersen. There were another fifteen or twenty who were conscious, but in the same state of confusion, disorientation, and dizziness as the captain. They were seated in chairs, on the other biobeds, or on the floor, awaiting treatment or for their symptoms to subside. Jenny Delaney staggered to her feet, offered her chair to Captain Janeway, and reseated herself on the edge of her twin sister's bed.

Chakotay eased the captain down into the vacated seat then glanced around at those present. Among the dizzy were Lt. Trent Salaka from Biology, Lt. Sue Nicoletti from Engineering, Joe Carey who'd been off duty in his quarters---they'd been all over the ship. Those who'd been more severely affected had been on different decks as well.

The doctor was scanning the unconscious patients. He looked up as Chakotay approached. "Would you mind telling me what is going on? I was not prepared for a sudden onslaught of patients---"

"Doctor," the commander said patiently. "The ship was apparently probed by some kind of energy beam of unknown origin. How severe are the injuries?"

The doctor snapped his tricorder closed. "As far as I can tell from the preliminary scans, they are merely unconscious. Asleep if you will. There does seem to be some minor irritation of the optic nerve in each patient. They should awaken momentarily and I will perform more detailed scans."

"How many people were affected?" Chakotay asked.

The doctor made a gesture indicating the crowd. "This would seem to be it. Approximately fifteen percent of the crew. The effects ranged from a momentary dizziness to complete loss of consciousness. The lack of uniformity of symptoms is most interesting."

"The light was bright enough to irritate my eyes, but I didn't feel dizzy," Chakotay reported. "Tuvok and Harry Kim and the others on the bridge seemed to be unaffected as well."

The doctor seemed intrigued. "Hmmmm. Fascinating. I'll take that into consideration as well when developing a theory on the comparative severity of the symptoms. Now if you'll excuse me, Commander---"

"Of course," the first officer said. "I would like for you to have your report ready for a staff meeting---say in one hour?"

"Yes, yes," the doctor muttered impatiently as he centered his attention on his patients once more.

Chakotay returned to the bridge to see what Ensign Kim and Lt. Tuvok had come up with.

********

Lt. Paris was the first to regain consciousness. "Owwwwwwww." The sound was nasal, long, and drawn out.

"Is that in the nature of an editorial comment or are you in pain?"

The holodoctor's snippy tone confirmed Tom's first guess as to his present location. "Sickbay. Again," he sighed heavily.

"Yes, Mr. Paris---Tom," he corrected himself. "Now can you give me more specific information? How do you feel?"

"I can't see," he complained.

The doctor sighed with exaggerated patience. "It might be helpful if you would open your eyes."

The lieutenant's eyes fluttered open briefly before he quickly squeezed them shut again at the intrusion of the dim lights overhead. "Owwwwwwww." His tone, volume, and the nasal, whining quality of his voice were exactly the same as his prior complaint.

"You said that before. It is not informative. Please define the exact nature of the problem."

Tom squinted his eyes to slits so he could peer up at the relentlessly pragmatic EMH who was bending over him. "Spots. In front of my eyes. Lots of colored spots. That keep moving. And my eyes feel dry."

"Anything else?" The doctor sounded as if he were making a shopping list as he entered the information onto his padd.

"Head hurts."

"Keep your eyes closed for a few moments. Your optic nerves are a bit irritated from

exposure to bright light. This will help."

Tom felt the hypospray hiss into his neck. His headache began to ease almost immediately.

"Don't rub your eyes!" the doctor barked.

"I'm not," Tom began, but then realized he wasn't being addressed as he heard the EMH move away from him toward another biobed a few feet to his left. From the noise level he was now alert enough to notice, he was not the only sufferer in Sickbay this time. His eyes barely open, he turned his head to see who was in the bed to his right.

It was Malista!

"I didn't even drink anything," she whimpered. "I don't deserve this." The doctor came to her side and ran the scanner over her.

"Yeah, it does feel like a hangover, Doc," Paris agreed, suddenly recognizing why this feeling was so familiar, though it had been a while since he'd been in this condition. "A really bad hangover. Except without the nausea. Well, maybe a little nausea from the dizziness. Yeah, like a hangover, but without the bad taste in the mouth."

"Hmm. I'll make a note of that."

"Tom?"

"Yeah, Sis?"

"You too?"

"What happened?"

"You can discuss that later," Doc interrupted. "You have a staff meeting in less than one hour. Lie still, be quiet, rest your eyes, and wait for the medication to take effect."

For the first time since he'd been activated, the doctor didn't get an argument from the crew. It was a most satisfying experience. One he'd like to repeat. Often.

*********************

The briefing room seemed crowded. In addition to the Senior Staff, the other crewmembers who had been most harshly affected by the probe's beam had been invited to attend. Additional chairs had been brought in, but limitations of space led to a feeling of being packed into a small room. Jenny Delaney was also present, at the doctor's request, though she'd been only mildly affected by the probe. She seated herself to one side, where she would be out of the way, but able to keep an eye on her twin sister.

"Doctor?" Captain Janeway said, yielding the floor to the EMH who was giving his report via the viewscreen.

"As far as I have been able to ascertain the only pattern to the distribution of the severity of the symptoms is that there is no pattern." The Doctor seemed to be as displeased with that vagueness as the captain was.

"No pattern at all?" Janeway asked.

"None that I've been able to detect. As Mr. Kim has stated there were twenty probes altogether, scattered throughout the ship. There was no perceptible pattern concerning location in the ship. I ran scans of all those who were not affected at all and compared them to scans of those who were affected most severely. There was no correlation. This probe, whatever it was, seems to have acted at random."

"Was there a pattern among the---" Janeway hesitated to use the word 'victims'. "Among those affected?"

The doctor frowned. He did not deal well with frustration. "All three groups, those who lost consciousness, those who became dizzy, and those who were not affected are made up of a cross section of the ship's crew. The one factor that remained consistent is that only full humans were affected. Since the majority of the crew is human, that is hardly helpful information."

Janeway looked at the end of the table where the six crewmen who'd been most strongly affected by the probe were seated side by side. "And these six, Doctor? What do these six have in common that caused a common severe reaction?"

All eyes studied The Six: Tom Paris, Malista Shadow, Megan Delaney, Janine Lamont, Ethan Simms, and Sven Haldersen. The Six blinked back at them.

Tom Paris spoke with cool derision, "May I say as one of 'The Six' that an hour later, my eyes *still* feel dry and I'm *still* seeing colored spots dancing around? And my head *still* hurts. Just not quite as much as before."

The other five gingerly nodded their agreement with his assessment. They all looked sapped of energy and drawn by the pain they'd experienced---were experiencing.

Janeway scrutinized them. "Three blondes---two male, one female. One brunette, female. Two redheads, one male, one female. Five Starfleet, one Maquis. Ethan and Malista were in Engineering on Deck 11, Sven was in the messhall on Deck 2, Tom was on the bridge, Janine was in the shuttlebay, and Megan was in the holodeck on Deck 6. You're right. I am not detecting a pattern here, Doctor."

The doctor cleared his throat, a human mannerism he'd adopted to enable him to regain control of a conversation. "There is one fascinating discrepancy, Captain."

"Yes, Doctor?"

"The fact that Lieutenant Megan Delaney is among the six rendered unconscious, while her sister, Lieutenant Jennifer Delaney is not," the EMH announced triumphantly.

"And your point is?" Chakotay asked.

"Commander, they are identical twins. *Identical.* This means they have an identical genetic makeup. Any stimulus that acts on the two of them, should produce an equal response or lack of response in both women. However, in this case, for some reason, it did not. Megan Delaney was rendered unconscious by the probe, while Jennifer Delaney became disoriented, but did not lose consciousness."

"Why?" Harry Kim asked.

The doctor's face fell. "I don't know. But it is fascinating."

"Perhaps the stimulus was not uniformly felt throughout the ship?" Tuvok hypothesized.

While the doctor and Tuvok debated that point, Harry Kim threw an encouraging wink towards Shadow. She smiled wearily. One hand was massaging her temple. Paris was seated next to her and holding her other hand. He looked pale and drawn. It was hard to tell who was comforting whom. Perhaps it was mutual.

Harry's eyes began to wander, following his mind. He looked at the six, then at the others in the room. He and Chakotay hadn't been affected at all. Why? He focused on the Delaneys. The Doc seemed to think they might hold the key to the puzzle.

Harry sat up straighter. There was something different. It was strange, but today---They didn't look---quite so identical? He didn't understand why he thought so, but didn't try to rein in his imagination. He was onto something here. Now if he could just figure out what it was.

His eyes returned to the six. Tom, Malista, Megan, Janine, Ethan, and Sven. What did they have in common? According to the doctor, nothing. Not something common to all six of them. So what if it was something not common to all six? 'That could take years to figure out. You can't prove a negative,' Harry told himself.

As if magnetized, his gaze returned to Malista. Her pretty green eyes were bloodshot. They must be painful. That light had been a bright white, possibly hot. Green eyes. Like emeralds.

'Hmm. Ethan has green eyes, but not the same shade of green,' Harry thought. He shook his head. 'That couldn't be it. Tom's eyes are blue. And so are Sven's. And Janine's.'

He looked at Megan. Her eyes are blue. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of Jenny Delaney, feeling foolish for even looking. Her eyes were---gray. Slate gray. Not blue.

Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. His head jerked back toward Megan. Definitely blue eyes. Why?

"Mr. Kim?" It was the captain. She'd noticed his abstraction and sudden alertness and wanted to recall his attention or to obtain an explanation.

"Captain, she's out of uniform!" Harry pointed to Jenny Delaney.

Everyone in the conference room stared first at Kim, then at Jenny. "I'm off duty," she offered confusedly. "I was in the holodeck. My sister had just joined me there."

Harry got to his feet, his excitement wouldn't let him sit still. "But, Jenny, you're wearing a gray shirt."

"Yes? What about it?" Jenny's tone implied she was humoring a raving lunatic.

"Your eyes are gray. Megan is in uniform. Her blue uniform. Her eyes are blue," Harry announced. He paced quickly around the table to stand behind the six. "Look, Captain. I think I know why these six." As he spoke he touched each one on the shoulder. "Tom---blue eyes. Malista---green eyes. Megan---blue eyes. Janine---blue eyes. Ethan---green eyes. Sven---blue eyes. And Jenny Delaney---the twin whose reaction didn't match her sister's---gray eyes. Like yours, Captain. You and Jenny were affected the same way by the probe."

"Eye color? Is that possible, Doctor?" Janeway asked.

The doctor looked stunned. "I did scans down to the genotype level---and the pattern is as superficial as eye color?"

"But is it possible?"

"Those with dark eyes weren't affected at all," Harry theorized. "Think about it! On the bridge, the humans not affected were Chakotay, Ayala, and I. We have dark brown eyes. Hudson was in Engineering, standing right next to Ethan. Not affected. He has brown eyes."

"But these six aren't the only ones with light colored eyes," Torres protested.

"And those are probably the ones who were dizzy. The captain and Jenny---gray eyes," Harry added as he returned to his seat. "Who else got dizzy?"

"Lieutenants Salaka and Nicoletti and Carey, among others," the doctor replied. He checked the medical files on his desk. "Hazel eyes. They could be considered light colored eyes."

"I'll bet if you check, you'll find that the only humans not affected are the ones with the darkest eyes," Kim offered.

"An interesting theory, Ensign," Tuvok commented.

"More than that. He may be right," the EMH declared. "The difference in eye color stems from the absence or presence of melanin. It's possible that the amount of melanin present in dark eyes blocked whatever effect the probe had on those whose eyes have less melanin."

Paris tried to smooth away the frown between his eyebrows as he concentrated. "So you're saying we six have less melanin in our eyes---so our eyes didn't block out---whatever."

"Colored spots?" Chakotay said. "Paris, did you say you were seeing colored spots before your eyes?"

Paris squinted at him. "I don't remember. Yes. I guess so." He closed one eye, then opened it again. "Yeah. They're colored, all right. The light was colored. Why wouldn't the spots be colored too?"

"Because the light was white," the first officer announced. "Even our instruments read it as a pure white light beam. No color."

"That could just be the effect of the dazzling brightness," Janeway offered.

"No," Malista said. "When I saw it, the probe wasn't white. It was green. The light was green and blue."

"I would have said blue and green," Sven Haldersen disagreed. "It was more blue."

"Captain, I would like to run more tests---" the EMH began.

"Oh, no," Paris groaned. He closed his eyes, then opened one sad-looking eye toward the captain. "Back to Sickbay?"

"Back to Sickbay," she retorted unsympathetically. "I want to know what that probe was doing. We need to know its purpose, and if possible find a way to prevent such an occurrence again."

Harry walked to the end of the table once more and helped Malista and Tom to their feet. The Six trudged wearily back to Sickbay for more tests. Harry and the rest of the Senior Officers returned to the bridge to resume their search for answers.

*************************

Ensign George Natwick was not on duty during Beta shift, but he was in the Security Office anyway, accessing computer records. Ensigns Simms and Hudson, who were on duty, caught him at it. Technically, it wasn't a violation of regulations. Not exactly. But it was close enough to give the pair some leverage in dealing with him and finding out what he was up to.

Hudson smiled politely and insincerely. "What are you doing in the personnel and security files, George?"

For a moment, the two didn't think he would answer. To his own surprise, Natwick replied, "Helping out a friend."

Hudson and Simms swapped looks. Simms got there first. "What friend?"

The big ensign clenched his jaw stubbornly.

Another look at Hudson. Simms ventured, "Malista?"

George relaxed suddenly. "You know about it, huh?"

"Know what?" Hudson returned. "If she's filed a complaint, I haven't heard about it. How do you know anything is going on?"

Natwick curled a scornful lip in his direction. "I'm not stupid, Hudson. I've known something was wrong. I just didn't know who. I thought it was Kim. Again."

"Wishful thinking?"

Simms nudged his partner with his shoulder. That wasn't exactly a tactful remark. He knew Hudson and Natwick didn't like each other much. Their relationship was purely professional. It might be better to keep this discussion on a professional basis. "Malista is being harassed. She may not be the only one. Gerron and Dalby sent word to me because they wanted some help in identifying the source of the problem. What do you know about it, George?"

"What? Don't you mean what have *I* been doing to Malista?" the ensign sneered.

"No. We already took you off the list of suspects. Not your style," Ethan told him flatly.

"You're right about that." Natwick had slightly more tolerance for Simms. "Why hasn't she reported it? Filed a complaint?"

The younger man shook his head. "We don't know why. When we find out who and exactly what, that may tell us the rest. This is unofficial. We're just looking into it---as friends. So what do you have?"

"I have one name. What do you have?"

"We have one name," Mikel stated, still not letting his guard down.

"You guys want to compare notes and work together on this?" Ethan proposed.

Natwick and Hudson both stared at him as if he'd suggested they step out an air lock and go for a stroll.

A moment of silence ensued as the three of them thought it over.

Finally, Natwick nodded. "Yes. To help Malista." He eyed Mikel defensively, as if waiting for a wisecrack.

Hudson saw genuine concern for Shadow in the muscle man's demeanor so he let the opportunity pass. He and Simms simply nodded their agreement as well.

Natwick showed them the file he'd just pulled. Crewman Paul Castelle. Simms gave him the name they'd come up with as a suspect. Lieutenant j.g. Laro Longoria.

"Now what?" Natwick growled.

"Good question," Hudson replied. They both looked at Ethan Simms.

"Now---we try to get some proof," the auburn-haired ensign said.

"I had in mind pounding Castelle into the ground like a climbing piton," Natwick confessed. He flexed his bulging biceps. "Strictly out of sight and off the record."

"Ah, the unofficial approach," Hudson said, grinning boyishly. "Tempting." He pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

Natwick grinned back. He might grow to like Hudson after all.

Simms eyed the pair dubiously. Maybe telling Lt. Tuvok wasn't such a bad idea after all. With or without proof.

**************************

If Malista Shadow had known B'Elanna Torres as well as she thought she did, she would have been suspicious when Torres explained that the two of them were to meet Harry and Tom at Sandrine's for a snack before going to the other holodeck for their workout.

And even more suspicious when B'Elanna insisted that she wear her sweats, rather than the tights she usually wore.

And warning klaxons should have sounded when Torres told her to leave her commbadge in her quarters.

But Malista Shadow was too thoroughly distracted by her own thoughts to read the signs that would have made her suspicious. Even the most obvious clue. Just as they reached the inner doorway of Sandrine's, Torres oh-so-casually mentioned there were alien visitors aboard that reminded her of Nausicaans.

So the two women walked into Sandrine's---and into the beginning of a bar brawl. Five Nausicaans, huge, hulking, and armed with knives, were rushing with hostile intent toward the Voyager crew members present in the holodeck.

A terrified Malista watched as one of them swung a wicked-looking knife at Harry Kim. The ensign ducked under the swing and came up in a lunge with both fists in the alien's face. They fell to the floor, the ensign on top, struggling for possession of the knife.

Tom Paris, on Kim's right, had tackled one of the big aliens and pinned him to the floor. A second alien was approaching from Paris' rear, knife upraised. Screaming a Klingon war cry, Torres rushed forward and threw herself onto the alien's upraised arm, using all her weight to swing him away from his intended victim. The element of surprise was a great help as she slammed him into a wall.

Kim had knocked out his opponent and staggered to his feet. Shadow rushed to his side to steady him, only to be pushed behind him as yet another alien rushed at them. Distracted by trying to protect her, Kim allowed this one to get through his guard. The alien landed a punishing blow to the young man's midsection, doubling him over. Kim landed at Malista's feet, retching and trying to catch his breath.

The Nausicaan reached down to seize the ensign. Without hesitation, Malista grabbed the nearest chair and with all her strength brought it crashing down on the alien's head and shoulders. He crumpled to the floor, narrowly avoiding crushing Kim beneath him when Shadow used a well-placed kick to push his falling form back and away from her beloved.

Shadow leaned down, got her hands under Kim's shoulders, and dragged him to a relatively safe location, behind the bar so he could catch his breath as she stood watch over him to keep him safe and out of harm's way. She popped her head up over the counter to perform a quick reconnaissance. Only two of the aliens were still up and moving.

Torres was still engaged with the same huge alien. He'd lost his knife and was now using only his fists as weapons. She was using her speed to confound the enemy as she darted in to deliver well-placed blows, then danced out of the way of the retaliatory blows. She was laughing jubilantly at her opponent and his inability to pin her down and administer punishing blows with those big hands.

Paris was down, hurt, but not too severely. He seemed to be shaking off the effects of a blow to the jaw. He'd taken two of the Nausicaans out of the action before being knocked off his feet. There were three other Voyager crewmen down and unconscious nearby. The other Nausicaan was moving towards the pilot's recumbent figure. Paris, still groggy, didn't seem to be aware of the danger.

Torres noticed and yelled, "Malista, take him out!" She quickly danced out of reach of her opponent's long arms. Seizing a broken chair leg, she swung it threateningly, daring him to come closer and decisively leaving Paris' fate in Shadow's hands.

Shadow moved to the end of the counter and stopped. Her hand dropped toward her ankle---but she didn't have her boots on. She picked up a bottle of liquor and hurled it at the alien's head with remarkable dead-on accuracy. The shattering glass didn't seem to hurt the Nausicaan very much, but it did serve to get his attention. He abandoned his original target, turned, and started moving toward her with a roar.

She picked up another bottle and let fly. And another. And another. In rapid fire succession, she hit the alien over and over, the heavy liquor bottles pounding his skull then his body relentlessly as she hit every vulnerable spot with pinpoint accuracy. He suddenly lurched to a stop, teetered for a moment, then crashed to the deck with a resounding thud.

Suddenly, Shadow felt a hand on her shoulder. Reacting instinctively, as she'd been trained in her self-defense classes, she reached back, grasped the forearm firmly and heaved! A body went flying past her and landed in a heap against a broken table. Her eyes widened with horror as she recognized her victim! It was---Harry Kim!

"Computer, freeze program." It was Tom Paris' irritable voice---but it was coming from the doorway---not from his position on the floor.

Malista stood frozen for a split second. Her eyes shot from the panting figure of Harry Kim lying near her feet---to the figure of Harry Kim that she'd just tossed across the room.

Tom Paris spoke again. "Computer, remove all holocharacters from this program."

The Harry behind the bar and the Tom on the floor disappeared---along with the Nausicaans and the other Voyager crewmen. Everyone except the four of them.

Almost simultaneously, Malista Shadow launched herself across the room and skidded to a halt on her knees beside the real Harry Kim who was sitting up slowly, rubbing the back of his head which had banged against the floor when he'd landed. Fortunately, he'd remembered enough of his own self-defense training to fall properly and avoid serious injury.

Shadow's eyes frantically searched for damage to his head or limbs. "Harry, I'm so sorry---are you all right?" Her hand automatically flew up to signal---but, thanks to B'Elanna's forethought, she wasn't wearing a commbadge. "Tom, we have to beam him to Sickbay." She seemed positively panic-stricken.

Harry grabbed her hand and smiled at her reassuringly. "Calm down. I'm all right. I don't need to be beamed to Sickbay for a knot on the noggin. My head's almost as hard as Tom's."

She didn't even try to smile at his weak attempt at humor. "Are you sure?" She began frantically checking him over, trying to prove to herself that she hadn't really injured him.

Giving up on reasoning with her for the moment, Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly into his embrace, letting the strength of his hold convince her. "I'm fine, Cookie. Sit with me a minute and catch your breath." She was shaking as she snuggled into his warmth, her hand stroking his thick hair as she tried to soothe away even the smallest hurt.

Torres, her exuberant enjoyment of the conflict interrupted, was belligerently regarding Tom Paris as he approached her with a disapproving frown. "You weren't invited," she accused defensively, hoping to get in a preemptive strike. She dropped the chair leg to the floor and dusted her hands off on her hips.

"I wonder why?" he asked sardonically. "Nausicaans?!" His eyebrows flew up almost to his hairline.

"They may be thugs, but they're formidable opponents," she retorted. In the background, they could hear Harry Kim whispering to Malista, though they couldn't make out the words, his tone implied he was reassuring and comforting her.

"Why?" Paris asked quietly. "Why did you do this?"

Ignoring his question, B'Elanna walked over to stand next to Malista and Harry. "I wanted you to learn to fight," Torres told her. "If you have to go on an away mission with Tom---or anyone else, I don't want you to endanger others because you aren't prepared to defend yourself."

"This wasn't a good idea, B'Elanna," Paris said from behind her, his jaw tightening.

Malista didn't look up. She kept her eyes fixed on the pulse beating in Harry's throat and tried to stop shaking. She didn't acknowledge even hearing the other woman's remark.

"I'll tell you one thing," Harry said lightly. "I've learned my lesson. Never again will I enter a holodeck program without announcing my presence. Oof." The last sound was uttered when Malista compulsively squeezed him tighter, forcing the breath from his body in a rush.

"You ought to go to Sickbay," she murmured, speaking for his ears alone.

"For this little lump on the head? The Doc would laugh at me. I tell you what, why don't you take me back to your quarters, get me an ice pack, and feed me baklava? My kind of therapy," Harry replied. He wanted her to focus on something besides his so-called injuries and she always responded to feeling needed.

Paris extended a hand to Harry and pulled him to his feet. The two men held their hands out to Malista and pulled her upright as well. Tom embraced her in a quick hug. "Hey, where did you learn to throw bottles like that?"

"I didn't learn to throw bottles. I learned to throw knives---at the circus. Much to my father's dismay, I tried to learn all the acts in the circus," she explained in a husky whisper. "My uncle Anthony had a knife throwing act. I've been teaching Aron Dalby and Diane Russell how to do it. They want to perform at the talent show when we---if we do our trapeze act." She stepped back from Tom and retreated into Harry's welcoming, enfolding arms. She didn't spare even a glance for Torres.

Trying to ease the tension, Tom asked, "Just one question, Sis. In this knife throwing act, I hope you were the throw-ER, not the throw-EE?" He faked a panicky frown.

She managed a weak smile. "Both. I substituted for Uncle Tony or for his target, my cousin Maria, when either one couldn't perform."

Harry and Tom's eyes met over her head which now rested on Harry's shoulder. "I think we'll skip practice tonight, Tom. I think you're both worn out and on edge from the effects of that probe yesterday. Maybe we can get back on schedule tomorrow?"

"Sure, Harry. Get a good night's sleep, Malista," Tom said. When the holodeck doors had closed behind them, he spoke again. "Computer, reset holodeck program to original parameters of Paris Program Three."

The computer complied. The broken furniture and shattered bottles vanished to be replaced by the usual holographic patrons and furnishings. He walked to the bar, sat down, and poured himself a drink.

Tired of being ignored, Torres slipped onto the barstool next to Tom. "How did you two get in, anyway? I had a security lockout in place."

Paris held his glass up to the light and inspected the contents as carefully as if he were counting the bubbles in the carbonated liquid. "I've told you before---you'd be surprised the things you learn in prison."

Torres found it difficult to read his expression. He didn't seem angry---not the cold, hard anger he'd displayed only once before in her presence. He didn't seem irritated---the quick flash of sarcastic temper that he more commonly exhibited.

"Tom?" With one word she asked several questions at once.

"This was a mistake, B'Elanna." His voice was heavy. From his posture, she guessed the burdens of his mind were weighing down not only his voice, but his whole body.

She fought off an instinctive urge to react defensively and deny any possibility of an error in judgment on her part. "Why?"

He pressed the cold glass to the center of his forehead and held it there for a moment. "Because Malista is very stressed right now---and you just applied more pressure."

She considered the possibility that he might be correct, but felt the need to explain her rationale. "I thought it might help her. If she would learn to fight."

"And did it work? Did she fight?" He finally turned to look at her, his blue eyes for once unreadable---at least by her.

She dropped her gaze, uncomfortably aware that she had upset Malista, Tom, and Harry, and all for questionable results. "No. Not the way I expected her to. She didn't fight for herself. She only fought when Harry was in trouble---or when you were. She fought for you, too. But not the way I expected. Throwing bottles?" Her tone was incredulous.

Tom, however, seemed to understand or at least accept it. "She used what was at hand."

"But, Tom, she's taken training in self-defense! She should know how to---"

"She does. That's how she tossed Harry. And she made a very good job of it, too."

"Then why didn't she *use* those fighting techniques?" The frustration was bubbling out of the engineer now. Hers was an analytical mind. Her failure to correctly analyze and correct Malista's problem made her feel inadequate and inefficient.

"Maybe because she had time to think about what she was doing. Sometimes if you second guess yourself, you forget your training. When she threw Harry, she reacted instinctively, because he caught her by surprise while she was in a dangerous situation---or thought she was." Tom's brow furrowed. "That's not the most important question. Why will she fight for others, but not herself? I think I've figured that one out."

"You have?"

He set his glass down on the bar. "Yes. She won't defend herself---because she doesn't think she's worth fighting for. She has no problem with risking herself for others though, because she thinks they are worth dying for---and if it costs her something, it's no loss to anyone."

"How do you know?" Torres examined his face intently. For a moment, she didn't think he was going to answer.

"Personal experience." His voice held a razor's edge of bitterness and another emotion she couldn't identify.

Torres wanted to reach out to him, to hold him---but she was afraid he would shrug her hand away. "Oh, Tom."

He rested his elbows on the bar and hid his face in his hands, his fingertips rubbing small circles on his temples. "Not exactly a death wish. Sort of like what she said on the holodeck---the night she---" He didn't want to say it. Torres would know he meant the night Shadow had attempted suicide. "Sometimes you think it might just be easier to be dead."

Since that night, B'Elanna had wanted to ask him about a statement he'd made to Malista, but the opportunity had never presented itself before. "Tom, you said you had seen that look in the mirror. That you had thought about killing yourself. More than once. Was that true?"

"Yes." He dropped his hands onto the bar and turned his head slowly to gaze into her eyes. His mask had completely disappeared. His feelings were too strong to be hidden. The memory of past anguish was clearly written in the blue depths of his eyes for her to see. "I did think about it. When your life is so out of control, when you're so unhappy that---it even crosses your mind---even for just a moment, that it would be easier to be dead than to have to deal with the guilt or---whatever---that's when you need to go running, screaming for help. Or decide to go ahead and get it over with."

Torres struggled to breathe around the lump in her throat. "And you got help?" She couldn't resist the urge to touch him any longer. Her hands found his and clasped them tightly. She was relieved when he squeezed her hands in return.

"Not exactly. I ran a good bluff---too good for my own welfare," he confessed. "I didn't *look* like I needed help---so no one offered. I had too much pride to ask for help. Paris pride. I was afraid they'd say no anyway. But then I always had to learn things the hard way, I guess. I found out I had enough stubbornness and enough determination not to let my---not to let *anyone else* count me out."

He curled his lip, the derision aimed at himself. "I'm the only one who can tell me that it's time to give up. And I was contrary enough not to give in and let *them* win. Them being everyone who told me I couldn't do anything right. That I would never amount to anything. That with one lie, one falsified report---I'd thrown away any chance I had at a good life. I told myself that I wasn't ready to admit they were right and if I killed myself, I'd never be able to prove them wrong. I couldn't even convince myself that if I did kill myself 'they'd be sorry'. It had a certain attraction---punishing others by killing myself---but then I realized that 'they' had already walked away from me. They might not even notice if I ceased to exist. So the only one I would hurt would be me---oh, and maybe my sisters. And Sandrine. She'd be disappointed in me. So I managed to hold on until things got better---or at least eased up some. My uncle used an expression that I thought about a lot: When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on!"

He smiled ruefully at that. "It worked in a way. But that doesn't matter now. I got past that. Lessons learned the hard way are the ones that stay with you. I got by with the help of some good books that gave me hope---good friends like Harry and you, and good fortune in the person of Kathryn Janeway who gave me a chance and then her trust. I got a second chance---and this time I *won't* blow it." His azure eyes showed his conviction and determination to make that statement come true.

"I know you won't," she replied calmly, when she could speak at all. That single flat statement of fact reassured him more than if she'd made a lengthy speech. "But what about Malista?"

"I'm really worried about her, B'Ella."

She felt the tightness in her chest ease as he used his pet name for her. Maybe he wasn't furious with her after all. Maybe she hadn't damaged their own relationship beyond repair.

"She was doing so well and getting comfortable with herself and the crew. Something else is going on. Something that's been eating at her for weeks. She won't talk about it. Harry hasn't got a clue. When she's with him, she's determined to act like everything is fine. She seems happy when they're alone together. She doesn't want to go out among the crew to socialize. It's like she's afraid of someone. Or something."

"I know. She's been distracted and upset, but she never shows it when Harry's around. She seemed tense. That's why I thought if I could get her to fight--- A good hard workout always makes me feel more relaxed. I was trying to help her."

"You went about it the wrong way." Paris sighed heavily. "The Doc thinks she's avoiding confronting her feelings of anger. You just tried to push her into it, in a way. It didn't work though. It's not your fault. She doesn't---communicate too well. It makes it easy to misread her."

Torres felt guilty. She'd caught a glimpse of Malista's face when she'd realized the whole scenario had been a holographic trick and knew the younger woman felt B'Elanna had betrayed her trust. Though she hated to admit to being wrong, this was the second time she'd made a misstep with her relatively new friend.

"I know. I'll apologize---I'd do it now, but I think she's too upset. I'm not as good with people as I am with engines. Maybe it wasn't such a bright idea to use you and Harry as images. I thought that would make her more likely to fight. And it did. She's very protective of you both, you know."

"I know. I wish you'd talked with me about this. And by the way," he added striving for a light touch, "why did you program *me* to get clobbered? I'll have you know, I'm pretty good in bar fights. I should be. I had enough practice between leaving Starfleet and joining the Maquis." It was a weak joke, but the best he could do at the moment.

She tried to smile. "If you didn't get 'clobbered', she wouldn't fight at all. I thought she'd get caught up in the commotion and enjoy herself. I did."

"Not everyone enjoys the thrill of combat, B'Ella. Confrontation and fighting---exhausts me more than it exhilarates me. Malista is the same way, I think. She turns her hostility inwards. I do at times. Your way of dealing with your feelings is probably healthier. At least you get them out and do something about them. Malista keeps stuffing them down inside her. I don't know what to do about her. Neither does Harry. He's really upset that she won't talk to him about what's bothering her, but he doesn't want to pressure her. He's afraid he'll just make it worse. And he may be right." Paris shook his head, then winced as if he regretted it. "Ouch. My head still hurts. The doctor thinks it's psychosomatic. I wish I could give this ache to him. I'd show him psychosomatic!"

She released his hands and went around to stand behind him. She placed her small, strong hands on the base of his neck and began kneading the tight muscles there. "Maybe Harry can get her to talk tonight. Now that I've got her all stirred up, she may be in the mood to talk to him," she said regretfully. "Don't worry about it. Let those two take care of themselves for now. You may be worried about her, but I'm worried about you. You need to take better care of yourself, Helmboy!"

"Mmmm. Feels good," he murmured drowsily, smiling slightly at her use of the nickname bestowed on him by the Lady Q.

As she felt his tension lessen, her curiosity got the better of her. "Tom, did you really learn to break security codes in prison?"

"No, but when I say I learned it in prison, most people change the subject and don't ask more questions. Another defense mechanism. Sorry, B'Ella. It's a habit." He sighed contentedly, feeling muscles he hadn't known were taut loosening under her ministrations.

"To tell you the truth, I learned to crack codes at a much younger age. When I was a kid, my dad's favorite punishment was grounding me. For one thing, it kept me from doing anything to embarrass him in public. Which I did quite often for one reason or another---usually by accident. Being sent to my room got to be practically a continual punishment between the ages of eight and fifteen. Almost every weekend, I wound up restricted to my room."

"You had security code lockouts on the door of your room?" Torres had never heard anything so outrageous. To treat a child like a hardened criminal?

"Naw," he chuckled. "That wasn't it. You have to understand---sending me to my room wasn't exactly a good punishment. I *liked* my room too much. I spent lots of time there. As I got older, I found out that if I went to my room and didn't make much noise, people would leave me alone---forget I was even there. I remember crying in my room when I was a kid, hiding out there. I'd keep the door locked and read or play games. When my father grounded me, he'd put my computer on security lockout so I couldn't do any of the things I liked to do. But---"

"But you figured out how to get around his lockout codes?" Torres smiled at the thought of a rebellious boy breaking into his own computer. He was becoming so contented, he was beginning to droop. "What were you grounded for?"

"You name it, I probably did it at one time or another. I had many varied interests," Tom said ruefully. "Climbed the highest tree in the neighborhood. Swam in irrigation canals. Tried to fly off the roof using a bed sheet for wings. Trust me, that wasn't a good idea! I also tampered with the holographic programming in the Youth Recreation Center. Played doctor with the neighbor's daughter. Got in fights. Took stupid dares. Took *lots* of stupid dares. Went for a joyride in my father's skimmer. Got caught---"

His eyes suddenly snapped open. He couldn't believe he'd almost told Torres that he'd gotten caught peeking through the bedroom windows of the Vulcan Embassy when he was twelve. He'd done it to settle a bet with a friend. Which they had never settled to their mutual satisfaction---because his friend wanted hard evidence of Tom's claim---and Tom's camera had been confiscated by the Vulcan authorities, much to his chagrin.

B'Elanna suppressed a laugh. She could easily imagine the kinds of mischief Tom had gotten into as a boy and the kinds of mischief he wouldn't want to tell her about. She preferred to speculate about his pranks, rather than consider his statement about how much time he'd spent crying in his room. "Those don't sound like serious crimes to me. Most kids pull stunts like that at some time or another."

"Maybe. But I was a *Paris*---I was supposed to be serious-minded, obedient, and goal oriented. You know, if my father ever found out how much serious hacking I did while I was grounded---When I was eleven, I once got into the Starfleet Academy files! Aw, he'd never have believed it. He didn't think I was smart enough to do that much damage. He mistook lack of motivation for lack of intelligence." He reached up and took her hand and walked her around to stand in front of him, between his knees. "Enough about that. Thanks for the neck rub, B'Elanna. Now, can I return the favor?" He dropped his hands on her shoulders and pulled her towards him.

The doors to Sandrine's swung open and several crewmembers wandered in, chattering and laughing. Their brief moments of privacy were gone. Tom's polite facade descended like a curtain, veiling his eyes and his feelings once more as his public persona made its reappearance as automatically as he breathed.

"Why don't we go to your quarters and replicate some tomato soup? You told me it was comfort food. Maybe it will help your headache." B'Elanna said, stepping back and pulling his arm around her waist as he stood.

"Now there's an offer I can't refuse," Tom retorted with a hint of a twinkle in his eyes. "Promise not to burn it?"

B'Elanna growled at him. He growled back.

"Tom, don't growl," she admonished. "You're much better at---purring." Her wicked brown eyes flashed. His blue eyes widened. He smiled.

**************************

The EMH raised skeptical eyebrows as he checked the readout on the scanner. "You came to Sickbay for *this*?" he asked, miffed at having been interrupted while conducting his research. If not for Malista Shadow's anxious presence, he might have been even ruder to the young Ensign and dismissed him out of hand.

Harry Kim felt himself flushing. He'd finally agreed to stop by Sickbay on the way to Malista's quarters, because that seemed the only course of action likely to pacify her. She seemed to be convinced he must have at least a fractured skull.

Before Harry could formulate a response to the doctor's acrid comment, Malista leapt to his defense. "He could have a concussion. Are you sure he's all right?" Her tone bordered on hysterical. "He hit his head. On the floor of the holodeck. I don't know if the safeties were on or not."

The doctor, taken aback at her uncharacteristically adamant tone, handed her the scanner. "If it will reassure you, check the readings for yourself." He traded looks with Ensign Kim and nodded apologetically. Now he understood why they'd come here. He'd been treating the wrong patient.

Having verified for herself that Kim had not suffered an injury, a relieved Malista handed the scanner back to the doctor and leaned tiredly against the biobed next to Harry's legs. He slipped his arm around her and pressed her head against his shoulder, his eyes still on the doctor.

Flicking a switch, the doctor surreptitiously ran the scanner over the young woman. "How are you feeling, Malista? Any after effects from the probe?"

Her eyes opened to mere slits. "I'm all right. My head aches and I'm still seeing spots now and then."

"I would suggest you get some rest, then," the EMH stated. He filled a hypospray and held it to her neck. "This analgesic will help. I've also included a mild sedative. Perhaps you should check back with me in the morning, before you report for duty."

She nodded as Harry slid off the bed and steered her toward the door.

The EMH made a note in her file before returning to his research project concerning the probes and their effects. He thought he had a line on a possible palliative for the most acute symptoms.

*****************************

"Sit down and put your feet up," Harry ordered, silencing her protest with an upraised finger. "Every time I come to your quarters---or you come to mine---you spend half your time racing around, waiting on me. It's my turn to take care of you. You'll hurt my feelings if you don't cooperate. Sit. Rest. I can program a replicator."

Malista surrendered. If Harry wanted to fuss over her, she would let him. Anything Harry wanted, she'd do her best to be sure he got it. No matter what it was. She sank thankfully into the firm support of the couch, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping very well. She was tired. But when she slept, she dreamed. She didn't want to dream. Maybe if she just rested her eyes for a moment.....

Harry came back with two cups of hot chocolate and found her dozing. He set the cups down on the coffee table, trying not to make any noise at all. He stood there for a moment, just watching her sleep. In repose, with all her defenses down, she was so beautiful. So young. So vulnerable. The slight shadows under her eyes and the finely drawn lines around them lent her an air of fragility that he found alarming.

He tried to decide if he should carry her to her bed, or simply try to make her comfortable on the couch. Tiny frown lines began forming between her brows as she slept. He wondered what she was dreaming that made her frown. She started to murmur fretfully in her sleep. The only word he understood was 'dome'. Dome? Maybe she said home? No, she said it again. It was 'dome'. Strange.

The computer terminal on her desk suddenly beeped---an incoming message. Harry was across the room in an instant to silence the signal. It was too late. Just as he hit the control to display the message and shut off the alert, she snapped awake and sat up, her green eyes startled.

"Sorry. I wasn't fast enough." He indicated the computer with one hand. His eyes drifted down to the message.

"No, Harry!" she yelped, holding up her hand to forestall him. Uselessly.

His eyes had already scanned the message. "What IS this?" His face was flushing, partly from anger, partly from embarrassment. The message on the screen was obscene. No, it was worse than that. It was a sexual attack---a smear directed at Malista---designed to hurt and humiliate her---or perhaps to intimidate or scare her.

"Just delete it," she sighed, falling back against the couch.

Kim scrolled it down looking for a signature. There was none. It was an anonymous, obscene...."Have you gotten these before?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Just delete it."

He didn't. He saved the file then snapped off the screen and came to sit next to her, taking her hands in his. "Malista, have you reported this to Security?"

She closed her eyes. "No."

Harry was speechless for a moment. "No! Why not? Do you know who's sending you that---that filth?"

"No." She pulled her hand free of his hold and thrust them through her hair. "I don't know. I wish they'd stop."

"It would stop if you would report it, and let Security put a stop to it."

"Harry, I don't want to report it."

"Why not?" he asked, speaking very precisely in an effort to keep control of his temper. He wanted to explode, but he didn't have a target for his anger----yet.

She exhaled on a quavering sigh. "I don't want to make trouble for anyone."

"Malista, I will *not* have you subjected to this kind of---abuse. Sending material like that through the ship's communications system is in violation of at least half a dozen Starfleet regulations. Especially sending it anonymously. Have you kept any of the other messages? How many have there been?" Harry seemed to have no doubts about the proper course of action.

She wished she was as sure. "I don't know how many. I've been deleting them every night as soon as I---Harry, I don't think it will do any good to report it. I mean---it's anonymous. I don't know who---"

"There are ways to find out. It may take some time, but---" He stopped as she turned away from him, arms crossed on the back of the couch, and dropped her head to hide her face. To hide her face---from him? "Malista?"

"I'm sorry, Harry." Her words were muffled, but the pain came through clearly. Was she crying? She almost seemed to be cringing, as if she expected---as if she thought---

Harry Kim felt like kicking himself. She thought he blamed her? That he was angry at her? Because of that---stuff? She was always a little too ready to accept the blame for anything and everything---even things she had no control over. He had to tread carefully. He had to make it clear she wasn't to blame and that he knew it.

Kim drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it slowly. His head was a little clearer. He sank down on the couch next to her and gently slipped an arm around her. Overcoming her slight resistance, he gently twisted her body towards him and cradled her against his chest, pressing her face into the curve of his neck.

He couldn't think of what to say. So he stroked her hair with one hand, while the other held her firmly and lovingly against his body. After a moment, he began to croon under his breath, the way his mother had when she'd soothed him as a child. "It's all right, Malista. It's all right. I'm here, Cookie. I'm not going anywhere. It's not your fault. It will be all right."

She didn't speak. This was so much more than she'd expected. She'd thought Harry would be angry at her. She must have done something stupid or mislead someone. Why else would the anonymous sender think she would welcome such messages? Had she unknowingly encouraged this kind of---She didn't want to think about it.

Right now, Harry was here. Harry was holding her. She'd think about that. Nothing else. Not the messages. Not all the people who stared at her or the two men who tried to touch her. Not the future---when Harry might not be there. If he knew---if he found out how bad her reputation---No! She wouldn't think about that. Just the now. That's all she would think about. Just what was happening right now. This minute.

She was so tired. Tired of being on guard every moment that she was out of Harry's sight. Tired of being wary every moment that she was out of her quarters. Tired of not being able to sleep for fear of hearing her father's voice accusing her in her dreams. Tired of everything and almost everyone---except Harry Kim.

He was rocking his upper body back and forth, and her along with him. It was so soothing. Almost like being in a swing or a hammock. Except there were warm, strong arms enfolding her. Comforting her. She hadn't felt so safe, so cherished and protected since....

She wasn't even aware of the moment that she fell asleep. In his arms.

*****************************


	4. Chapter 4

*****************************

The tension between Maquis and Starfleet personnel was running high. It was inevitable that an eruption would occur as the anger and resentment simmering beneath the surface surged upward and spilled over. It was ironic that Malista Shadow, the innocent reason for most of the ill feeling, wasn't even present at Sandrine's when it occurred.

Henley was shooting pool with Gerron Tem. As she bent over for a shot, she heard a snickering remark from someone seated at the bar. The first two times, she didn't understand all the words, but she caught the tone. The third time she heard the words clearly. Slamming her pool cue down on the table, she spun to confront the smart mouth who'd been stinging her with sotto voce comments.

It was Crewman Paul Castelle. He'd just shared one gibe too many with the unresponsive Starfleet crewman sitting next to him at the bar. When Henley turned to confront him, Castelle got to his feet, his expression combining smiling defiance and a smirking leer. "Something wrong, Henley?" Insolence dripped from every syllable.

She made a move toward him, to find her way blocked by Gerron's shoulder as he faced her. "Henley, don't lose your temper."

She darted a glance at the young Bajoran, then turned her glare toward her antagonist. "Yeah, there's something wrong, Castelle. You have something to say to me, say it loud enough I can hear you. And say it to my face!"

The confrontation drew the eyes and ears of all those present in Sandrine's bar. All activity was at a standstill. Several people stood and drew closer, vaguely forming a semicircle. It was no coincidence that the Maquis were lining up near Henley and Gerron.

"What did I say?" Castelle said mockingly. "I was just expressing admiration for your form---with a cue stick." Unsure what was going on, several Starfleet crewmen were moving to stand with him---just in case. They couldn't leave one of their own isolated and outnumbered---whether they liked him or not. Castelle knew that and counted on it. He hadn't expected Henley to actually confront him. Shadow hadn't.

"Yeah, sure," Henley snapped. "I don't need your admiration. Or your opinion. So keep it to yourself."

"Maybe the Maquis haven't heard of freedom of speech? It's one of the principles of the Federation Constitution," he sneered. "But I forget, you Maquis are from those backwater colonies in the demilitarized zone."

Henley went for his throat. The only reason she didn't get it was because Gerron Tem wrapped his arms around her waist and thrust her back into the small crowd of Maquis and her forearms were seized by Dalby and Chell on either side of her.

"No! That's what he wants! If you throw the first punch---" Gerron whispered vehemently right in her ear.

Henley, breathing hard, let Gerron's words soak in and subsided even as she glared at the other man. The whole incident might have ended there, except for a single mistake in judgment.

"See?" Castelle said to the other Starfleet crewmen, gesturing toward Henley. "I told you those Maquis women were savage. They're barely civilized---but that just makes them wilder for sex. I hear they're insatiable? Right, Gerron?" The ensign was keeping a wary eye on Dalby and Henley, assuming any action would be started by one of the two hottest heads among the Maquis crew. That was his mistake.

He underestimated the young Bajoran's reaction to the taunt. That became clear as Gerron swung a fist and connected with Castelle's jaw. Castelle dropped to the deck, holding his chin and shaking his head to clear it. Before he could scramble to his feet, Dalby, Henley, and several other Maquis stepped forward, as did Castelle's Starfleet companions.

Before more fists could fly, a strong and powerful voice boomed, "That's enough! Stand down!" The First Officer, accompanied by Lt. Tuvok and two Security Officers pushed through the crowd and placed themselves squarely between the opposing sides.

"Everyone back off," Chakotay continued, staring down each and every crewmember individually. "You're finished for the night. Go to your quarters. As of now, the holodeck is closed for the night."

Reluctantly the crowd started to dissolve, the level of muttering increased but they obeyed. There were several more Security Officers stationed in the corridors to ensure the hostilities wouldn't be carried on elsewhere.

Chakotay looked down with disgust at Crewman Castelle. He should have known this man would be involved. "Lt. Tuvok, place Crewman Castelle and Crewman Gerron under arrest. The captain will deal with this in the morning."

At a nod from Tuvok, Ensigns Simms and Hudson took the sullen pair into custody and marched them to the brig.

Dalby began to protest, but was stricken into silence by the glare in Chakotay's brown eyes. He swallowed his words.

Henley was still standing there as well. "Gerron didn't---"

"Save it," the commander snapped. "I expect a full incident report from each of you in one hour---in my office. And that goes for you, too," he added, directing the comment to the Starfleet crewmen who'd apparently been siding with Castelle.

They nodded reluctantly, accepting their dismissal and skulking out of the holodeck. Henley and Dalby continued to wait for an opportunity to speak to the first officer. Their eyes darted to Lt. Tuvok.

Chakotay noticed. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate your promptness in dealing with this situation before it got out of hand."

"Anticipating problems facilitates dealing with them when they arise," the Vulcan replied. "Though I fail to see how you were able to predict this course of events with such accuracy. Did you have access to information that I did not?"

Chakotay's dimples briefly flashed into view. "In a manner of speaking. That's why I programmed Sandrine to warn us, if it seemed likely that a brawl was about to occur."

Tuvok nodded. "A wise course of action. If you will excuse me, Commander, I will fill out an incident report of my own and check on the status of the prisoners." At Chakotay's nod of dismissal, he left the holodeck.

The first officer now turned his attention to his former Maquis shipmates. "When I asked you for information last week, you stonewalled me. You ready to talk? Now?"

They nodded.

*****************************

Lieutenant Tuvok ran a quick assessing eye around the brig and the occupants of the two cells. He nodded approvingly at Simms and Hudson. "Have you summoned medical assistance for the prisoners?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir," Simms replied. "The doctor is on his way. He was a little put out that we didn't bring them to Sickbay---"

"The doctor is quite frequently 'put out' as you call it," Tuvok replied evenly. "Their injuries do not seem severe enough to warrant chancing further confrontation while they are undergoing medical treatment."

"Yes, sir." Simms darted a look at his partner, soliciting his opinion wordlessly.

Hudson stepped forward. "Lt. Tuvok, there is a matter we need to discuss with you. We've been informally investigating a problem that may be more widespread than we believed in light of this incident...."

***************

END OF TRIALS FOUR PART 2

*****************************

Malista awoke slowly, vaguely aware of an unusual feeling of safety, warmth, and comfort. A pleasant spicy scent nearby tickled at her nose. She smiled as she snuggled into the source of the warmth---then her whole body seemed to turn to stone. Her eyes flew open.

Her nose was pressed up against a red tee-shirt. That was covering the muscled chest of Harry Kim. Awareness rushed at her like an incoming photon torpedo as she recalled the previous night's events.

She didn't remember falling asleep. She certainly didn't remember getting into her bed, but that was undoubtedly where she was.

Harry was sharing her bed?!

Her face was pressed up against his chest, one arm around his waist, her hand clutching at his back, her other hand tucked under her cheek. One of his arms was draped over her back, holding her loosely against him. Their legs were entangled. They were both barefoot, but other than that, they were fully dressed.

She held her breath. She had to get out of the bed. This was embarrassing. Maybe if she was careful, she could get up and get changed into her uniform before he woke up. As she moved, her glance drifted up. Too late. He was awake.

He was lying on his side, his elbow propped on the bed, his chin cradled in his palm---and he was watching her with wide awake brown eyes. "Good morning." He moved his hand off her back and used it to brush her hair away from her face. His touch was disarmingly gentle.

She blinked. "Good morning. Uh, Harry..."

"You fell asleep." Her confusion and embarrassment were plainly written across her face. "I didn't want to wake you. I know you haven't been getting much sleep lately. So I carried you in here."

She bit her lower lip, her green eyes anxious with unspoken questions.

He pulled her lip free with his thumb. "Stop that. When I put you on the bed, you didn't seem to want to let go of me." He smiled at her fondly. "So I stayed. Just think of me as a teddy bear. Or a security blanket. How are you feeling this morning?"

She thought about it. "Better. I feel better. I'm sorry---"

With a flash of impatience, he laid a finger across her lips. "I'm really getting tired of listening to you asking forgiveness. Stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault. For example, those messages?"

Her eyes dropped.

"Malista, it's not your fault that some depraved dimwit is sending you that stuff. But I wish you'd told me. Or reported it to Security. Or both. I don't want there to be any secrets between us." He lifted her chin to meet her eyes. "If you have a problem, I want to know about it. I want to help you deal with it. And if I can't help you deal with it, the least I can do is---be supportive. Hold you. Comfort you. I told you---I love you." He'd thought the words so often, he didn't realize he'd never actually said them aloud until this moment.

They both flinched as her alarm sounded, stating the time. They had to be on duty in less than thirty minutes.

"Harry---" Her eyes filled with tears. "Harry, we don't have time for this discussion right now. Can we talk later?"

He swallowed his disappointment. He'd thought that surely by now she would trust him enough to tell him what was wrong. "Sure. I'd better get to my quarters."

They disentangled themselves, both feeling a bit awkward. She walked him to the door. "Harry? Thank you. For everything."

He flashed her a grin. "You're welcome."

***************************

At the morning staff meeting, the doctor had further test results to report. "It seems that my first report was---in error." He seemed reluctant to continue.

"In what way, Doctor?" the captain probed.

"In my original report, I stated that the only problem was a slight irritation of the optic nerve. In doing further scans, I have also noted that there is a pattern of stress along the neural pathways leading from the optic nerve. This pattern is most clearly seen in the six most affected, but is also present in others who were not affected at all. Ensign Kim, for example, who has dark eyes and showed no symptoms, nonetheless shows a minute degree of stress," the doctor concluded.

"And the cause of this stress?" Chakotay asked.

"The patterns seem to suggest that the probe was, in fact, trying to communicate. The light was the medium of the message. Unfortunately, we were not able to understand the message. It seems likely that the probe searched out the most compatible---" The doctor paused to search for an inoffensive word. "Conduits? Receivers---for the message. It was a visual rather than auditory message. The six who were rendered unconscious were evidently the most compatible receivers for the message of all those present on the ship."

"Wait a minute, Doc!" Paris interrupted irritably. "Are you trying to say all those colored spots dancing in front of our eyes are some kind of writing or code? I didn't get anything from that probe except a major headache."

The doctor's glare at the pilot expressed his exasperation. "I didn't say the message was successfully transmitted. I said it was an attempt. Your brain patterns may not be compatible with that of the race that is sending the message. You may not be able to comprehend the message at all."

"Have you come any closer to identifying why those six were chosen?" Janeway inquired. She'd been pondering that herself.

"Mr. Kim's theory was partially correct. It did have something to do with eye color. But, as you know, Captain, The Six are not the only crewmembers aboard with blue or green eyes. Some happened to be wearing protective lenses in the course of their work. That may have interfered with the selection process. Another factor seems to be the purity of the eye color at the time the probe was scanning and the lack of melanin in the iris. Many people with blue eyes, nevertheless have spots of brown or other shades of color in the iris," the doctor explained.

Tom Paris was getting really annoyed with being one of a group that everyone kept referring to as The Six. It seemed depersonalizing somehow. "Doc, what are you saying? Someone scrambled my brain while trying to talk to me by flashing lights in my eyes?"

"A rather non-technical assertion but essentially correct," the doctor replied.

Tom rolled his eyes, but sank back into his chair massaging his forehead. "That's nice to know. But it would be more helpful if you could help me get rid of this---headache."

The captain's concerned eyes examined him. The pilot's irascibility was out of character. "Doctor? Can you do something for him?"

"He thinks it's psychosomatic," Tom muttered sourly, his frown deepening as the pain behind his eyes suddenly sharpened and intensified. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and massaged them. "I don't really have a headache---I just *think* I do. That's why I can't sleep either. And have weird dreams when I finally do get to sleep. It's all in my mind. What there is left of it!"

"Based on further research, I am prepared to revise my diagnosis, if Mr. Paris will return to Sickbay for examination and treatment," the doctor stated.

Tom stifled a moan. "Anything. Just get rid of these lousy spots while you're at it. They're very distracting." He lurched to his feet, holding his head. He paused for a moment as he waited for the dizziness to pass.

"Mr. Paris, go to Sickbay. Mr. Kim, would you escort him, please?" the captain requested.

When the door had slid closed behind the two men, Janeway turned her attention back to the EMH. "Doctor? You were saying the probe was an unsuccessful attempt to communicate?"

"Yes. I would suggest that we devise some manner of communicating with these people before they make a second attempt. Their first try caused a small degree of damage to the neural pathways. I have been able to repair it and, in addition, I've developed a palliative to address the eye problems and the headaches. I have also devised a temporary measure which may provide some protection for those members of the crew who are particularly vulnerable to this form of attack. I will try the device on Mr. Paris. If it seems to be appropriate, I will issue the devices to each of the at risk crewmembers, beginning with The Six."

"Thank you, Doctor," Janeway replied. "Is there anything else?"

"In light of the continuing symptoms, I believe the probe may have merely been preparing The Six for receiving the message. The best explanation I can come up with is that the probe delivered some sort of virus through the optic pathways that is trying to rewrite the neural pathways to enable them to understand the message. They may try again," the doctor said somberly. "And if they do make another attempt at the same intensity level, the result may be permanent blindness, massive brain damage---or death."

****************************

Tom leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder as they walked across the bridge to the turbolift under the watchful, speculative eyes of the relief bridge crew. Between the jiggling splotches of color before his eyes and the pain in his head, Paris was finding it hard to keep his balance.

He leaned against the wall of the turbolift and closed his eyes, his hands never ceasing to massage his temples and forehead. "Deck Five."

"Tom, I know this isn't a good time---" Harry began hesitantly.

Paris made an effort and managed to squint one eye open at him. "What?"

"It's Malista. Someone's been sending her these---messages on her terminal."

"What kind of messages?"

Harry's face twisted with distaste as he remembered the small portion he'd read before snapping off the monitor. "Filth. It's the worst stuff I've ever seen---and it's---it makes me sick to even think about it. Accusing her of all kinds of things. Sexual things. Talking about her body, nasty garbage---describing what they want to do to her---" The bitterness of bile was in his throat, making him want to gag.

"Who---"

"They were sent anonymously. She didn't report it. She's been deleting them. From something she said, I got the impression she's been getting them every night. Probably for weeks." Though nothing had been accomplished yet, Kim felt better for having shared this burden with his best friend. This was beyond his own experience, but perhaps Paris could help him deal with it.

"Damn. That must be why she's been losing sleep." Tom put his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it. "That might explain a few things."

"Has she said anything to you about this? Or given you any explanation for the amount of stress she seems to be carrying?"

"No. For the same reason she didn't tell you. She wants to handle it." The turbolift door slid open on Deck Five. As they started down the hall, Tom continued, "The problem is that she isn't handling it. She's trying to avoid it, pretending it will go away. That's part of it."

Harry frowned his puzzlement as they entered Sickbay.

"Try not to worry about it, Harry. I'll try talking to her. Sometimes, it's easier to talk to someone who----"

"Who's got some experience?" Kim said almost harshly as he eased Paris down on a biobed.

Tom made an effort and captured his friend's gaze with blue-eyed intensity. "I was going to say, someone who's not as close, but experience may come into it, too. She knows your background. You're the one who's had a normal family and a normal childhood. She may not think you'll understand, but she does love you, Harry."

"She's never said so," Kim said unhappily. "The closest she's come is the night we made up. Before we went to Sickbay, she said 'I *think* I'm in love with you.' She never said she IS in love with me. And I love her, Tom. I never thought I'd really love anyone after I realized that I'd never see Libby again. But I really love Malista. Why can't she see that? I even told her I loved her this morning. And she just looked at me like she was going to cry! I don't know if I'm pushing too hard or if she just doesn't love me. Maybe she's changed her mind, but she doesn't know how to tell me. I can't tell what she's thinking!"

Tom sighed. Yet another problem to deal with. Communication skills were definitely underutilized on this ship.

"It's hard for her to trust, Harry. If she says it out loud, it means it's true---and she's afraid *you* don't want to hear it. As for why she hasn't told you about the problems she's been having--- I'd be willing to bet she feels like a failure because she hasn't been able to solve them herself. She's pretty good about beating herself up for every perceived fault. She wants you to think the best of her. Hell, she doesn't think she's good enough for you. She all but came out and said so one evening when we were talking."

"That's crazy," Kim protested. "I've *told* her---"

Paris shook his head slowly from side to side, and immediately regretted it as the sparkles of light intensified. "Harry, Harry, Harry. Telling her isn't going to be enough. You've made a good start. Just by being you and being supportive, you've already helped her a lot. The Doc says its common for victims of sexual assault to feel like they're tainted in some way. Marked out as a victim. This business with obscene messages has probably reinforced that idea in her mind."

"So what should I do?"

"She needs a lot of practical demonstrations of how you feel about her. You may tell her she's wonderful a hundred times---but someone else has already told her a *thousand* times that she doesn't measure up. Negatives are so much easier to believe than positives. Trust me. On that subject, I do know what I'm talking about." He sank wearily and thankfully onto the relative comfort of the biobed as Kes came over and ran a scanner around his head.

Kim wanted nothing more than to continue the discussion while Tom was open to talking about personal issues, but he was due back at the staff meeting and his friend was in pain. "I'm sorry I bothered you with this right now. I'll talk to you later, Tom. Feel better. And thanks!" He tried to smile, but failed utterly and trudged out of Sickbay as Tom lifted a hand in a careless, dismissive wave.

The doctor came over with a dyspeptic expression and yet another scanner and hypospray.

"Oh, joy! To be in Sickbay when the doctor is in bloom! Or do I mean with the blooming doctor?" Paris mumbled wearily.

"Tom," Kes protested gently. "Close your eyes and stay still."

"Sure. Why not? Hey, where's everyone else?"

"What do you mean?"

"The rest of The Six," Paris complained. "If I'm having a recurrence of symptoms, shouldn't they all be here too?"

"No," the EMH replied. "The effect was not uniform. The others may arrive shortly as their own symptoms intensify. Perhaps I'll call them in after I finish your tests. It's not surprising that your symptoms are more severe. Your eyes contain the least amount of melanin of anyone on the ship."

"Oh, goody," Tom exulted sarcastically. "I've set yet another record. Be sure to notify Starfleet Command. Send a copy of the report to the attention of Admiral Owen Paris. He likes to be advised about these things."

The doctor nodded, missing or ignoring the sarcasm completely. "I'll be sure to make a note of it in your medical file---which, by the way, is becoming quite full. If you continue your frequent visits here, I may have to start a second folder for you, Tom."

The helmsman surrendered to the inevitable and found himself drowsing off. Sleeping was better than being awake if you were going to be stuck in Sickbay. At least then you didn't have to hear the play by play as Dr. Frankenstein and Tinkerbell trifled with your body and mind as if they were toys. He really *hated* feeling out of control. He hated it even more when it was his own body that was out of his control.

*****************************

By the time Harry Kim returned to the staff meeting, the topic of conversation had moved on to Tuvok's Security report. He slid into his seat as they were discussing the near confrontation between Maquis and Starfleet personnel in the holodeck the previous night.

"The doctor came to the brig to treat a fractured bone in Crewman Gerron's hand and the dislocated jaw of Crewman Castelle," Tuvok noted. "Both crewmen declined to make a statement regarding the cause of the altercation."

The captain turned to the first officer and raised an eyebrow.

"Captain, as I reported to you last week, the level of tension has been rising steadily for some time. Last night, I had the opportunity to discuss the matter with reliable sources. The problem seems to stem from the sexual harassment of certain Maquis personnel, by certain Starfleet personnel," the commander said. He didn't look happy.

Harry, unnoticed for the moment, flinched. He had a bad feeling about this. This might have something to do with the source of the obscene messages Malista had received, but he didn't want to mention it. It would be betraying a confidence. Wouldn't it?

"Sexual harassment? On *my* ship? Do you have names to go along with these accusations?" Janeway's snapping eyes were cold steel gray.

"No, Captain. I'm sorry. The only name I've confirmed is Crewman Paul Castelle. That stems from his behavior last night." Chakotay looked down at a padd that held his notes on the incident. "It seems that Mr. Castelle has been spreading all kinds of stories about his sexual prowess and how he has demonstrated it with the female Maquis crewmembers. He has also instigated some vicious and slanderous rumors about the sexual appetites of Maquis women. Last night, he was more overt in his bragging and made the mistake of doing it where one of his targets could hear it. Crewman Henley was playing pool when she overheard him making remarks of a---personal nature about Henley's anatomy and sexual interests and habits." Chakotay stopped to clear his throat. He hoped the captain wouldn't ask for specifics. His dark coloring nearly hid the hot flush of blood he already felt rushing up his neck to his cheeks as he recalled Castelle's exact statements as quoted by those present.

"Overheard by whom? Were there any other witnesses? Or is it her word against his?" Janeway interrupted, citing a frequent problem in such cases.

Chakotay took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He did not meet the eyes of the other officers. "Overheard by Henley and Gerron."

"Not exactly impartial testimony," Janeway commented.

"Castelle was talking to Crewman Molina, who has also given a statement that corroborates Henley's story," the commander continued. "Mr. Molina just happened to be seated at the bar next to Mr. Castelle and was the unwilling audience for Mr. Castelle's remarks. He was not involved in any way in Castelle's actions and, in fact, disapproved of them."

"It seems we may have overestimated Mr. Castelle's intelligence," Janeway remarked dryly.

"Or perhaps he underestimated the auditory acuity of Crewman Henley," Tuvok remarked.

Janeway shot a sharp glance at him. If that remark had come from anyone else, she'd have thought it was a joke. Tuvok was just stating the facts. "Perhaps," she muttered. "What is going on? You say this is a pattern of behavior that Castelle has established before? Have there been any other complaints? Is there anyone else involved? And have all the female Maquis crewmembers been the objects of these---verbal attacks?"

B'Elanna Torres spoke up. "I haven't, Captain. Or if I have been, I haven't heard anything about it. But I think Malista Shadow has been bothered. She's been upset and distracted for days---maybe longer."

All eyes in the briefing room turned toward Harry Kim. He had time to brace himself for the impact of their gaze. He sat there stolidly trying to pretend he had nothing to contribute to the meeting, his face a blank mask. He wasn't as practiced at it as his friend, Tom Paris. Some of his anxiety leaked through his carefully managed expression.

"Harry? Has Malista been harassed?" Janeway asked gently.

"She hasn't filed a report." His carefully worded answer was precisely accurate.

"That's not what I asked," the captain returned pointedly.

No escape. If anything, his expression became even more deadpan as he tightened his jaw obstinately. "I am not personally aware of---" He couldn't say it. He couldn't look Captain Janeway in the eye and lie to her. He'd never been able to lie well. He cleared his throat. "Captain, I---"

She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have put you on the spot. I'll discuss this with Crewman Shadow myself."

The ensign wanted to protest, but swallowed the words with an effort.

"Lieutenant Tuvok, if you'll continue to look into this matter, I'd like to know the extent of the problem. I'm sure Commander Chakotay will give you any assistance you require," stated the captain.

The Vulcan nodded. "An investigation is already under way. My own sources have the name of another possible suspect and are interviewing possible witnesses to ascertain the degree of involvement of others."

"Now, Harry," Janeway turned back to the Ops Officer. "We need to analyze the energy readings of those probes and find a way to block them. Last time, they evidently passed right through our shields and the hull without setting off the intruder alert warning. If we can't block them, I want to know when they're coming and where they originate. Then I want to start working on a way to modify the Universal Translator program to work on nonverbal languages, such as these light and color signals so we can communicate with those who sent the probes."

"Yes, ma'am." It was an unconscious echo of Tom Paris. "I'll get to work on it right away."

A few moments later, the meeting was dismissed and the officers scattered to their duty stations. On the way to the bridge, Torres found a moment to pull Kim aside. "Harry, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned Malista---"

He shook his head. "You're her commanding officer. It's your duty to report something like that."

"Was I right?"

"Yes. But I don't want to talk about it. It's her story, not mine. If she wants you to know---as her superior or as her friend---it's her place to tell you."

B'Elanna nodded. She hadn't seen Malista yet today. She still owed the younger woman an apology. That was the next item on her agenda. Before she reached the turbolift, Lieutenant Tuvok called her over to his station.

"Lieutenant Torres, if I am going to investigate the possibility of a sexual harassment problem aboard this ship, it would be helpful to know where to begin. You mentioned that Crewman Shadow has been distracted and upset. Can you cite a particular instance?" Tuvok remarked as emotionlessly as if discussing weather conditions on Vulcan.

Torres tried to pinpoint an incident. She wasn't good about noticing subtleties of behavior. Usually her mind was too engaged with technical or problem-solving matters to pay much attention, but on one occasion in particular, it had struck her that Malista had been uncomfortable with her duty assignment. So had Gerron. And the simple task had taken far longer than it should have to complete---or was there another reason that Shadow and Gerron had been long overdue in reporting back to Engineering?

She nodded slowly as she considered her words. "If I were you, Tuvok, I think I'd start looking in the Biology Department. She was---very tense---when she returned from repairing the environmental controls there."

The Vulcan raised one eyebrow. He knew that, Malista Shadow had seen two members of the staff of the Biology Department socially on separate occasions: Lt. Trent Salaka and Crewman Sven Haldersen. That raised the possibility that one or both of them could be a source of the problem, though the Security Officer had never had any indication that either was the type of man to force his attentions on an unwilling partner. "I will investigate that possibility, Lieutenant. Thank you."

Torres continued on her way to Engineering.

*****************************

As it turned out, B'Elanna didn't have a chance to apologize to Malista. By the time she reached Engineering, Crewman Shadow had been summoned to the captain's ready room and had left for the bridge.

As Shadow crossed the bridge, her green eyes involuntarily slid toward the Operations station. Ensign Kim put as much encouragement and love as he could in the look he sent her. She appreciated it. Pausing for just a moment as she approached the door, she found herself smiling back at him.

She didn't blame Harry for telling the captain about the messages on her terminal. That must be what this was about. If he'd told the captain, he'd done it out of concern for her. She'd expected a summons like this from the moment he'd found out. She braced herself. She was prepared for anything Janeway might say. Or so she thought. She hit the signal for admittance.

"Come."

The young woman swallowed hard, her smile disappearing as if it had never existed, and stepped into the room. Captain Janeway was sitting behind her desk, Commander Chakotay was seated to her right, and there was a vacant chair on the left. With a polite smile, Janeway gestured her toward the empty seat. "Please, sit down, Crewman Shadow."

She sat as instructed, but didn't relax. She was poised on the edge of the seat, her spine rigid. Her hands clenched tightly on the arms of the chair. Her face was an icy, controlled mask, but her eyes had a glint in them that disturbed Chakotay. She looked like someone who was holding onto the tattered edges of her self-control---as if it were the difference between life and death.

Janeway recognized that something was very wrong here. Before bringing up the suspected harassment, the captain decided to give the younger woman some positive feedback in an effort to ease the tension. "A few weeks ago, Commander Chakotay and I began crew evaluations and performance reviews."

The statement confused Shadow. She frowned slightly as she made an effort to concentrate, trying to ignore both the pain in her head and the disconcerting sensation of sparkles of multicolored light randomly appearing and disappearing in her line of vision. "I'm sorry, Captain. What did you say?"

The captain traded concerned glances with her first officer. She smiled gently and encouragingly at the girl. "Malista, your work since you've become a member of this crew has been exemplary. In fact, it was the excellence of your performance that led us to discover you were working two different jobs and two shifts. Both your supervisors recommended you for promotion."

The green eyes rounded. Her mouth opened and closed twice before she choked out, "What?"

Janeway leaned forward, hands clasped before her on her desk, and spoke very clearly. "I thought you should know that you have been recommended for promotion to Ensign." She waited for the idea to sink in, expecting at least a smile of pleasure from the young woman. She didn't get it.

Malista Shadow surged to her feet, planted both fists on the captain's desk and shouted right in the captain's face. "You can't do that!!"

Before the captain could do more than blink and recoil from the ferocity of her tone, Shadow pounded the desks with her fists. "You can't do that! You can't promote me!! I won't LET you!!" Her icy features were now a twisted mask of rage, flushed with the heat of her anger.

Chakotay was on his feet, ready to intercede physically if necessary. His movement drew her attention.

Shadow spun to face him, to plead with him. "You can't let her do this. I don't *want* a promotion. You can't let her, Chakotay! Please, you have to stop her! It will ruin everything! They'll think---he'll think---everyone will think everything they said was true! I don't want a promotion! She can't make me take one, can she?"

The captain got slowly to her feet, staring as she tried to comprehend what had gone wrong and what Shadow was talking about.

"Malista---" Chakotay began, touching her arm lightly. Her eyes were closed. Every muscle in her body seemed to be clenched in an effort to regain command of herself.

The more she tried for control, the more it seemed to slip away. The very rigidity of her body made it easier to notice when she began to tremble. Her eyes opened and darted back to the other side of the desk. Her mouth dropped open as she suddenly heard what she'd said---and realized how she'd said it---and to whom.

She'd yelled---at the captain! The captain!! Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in horror. "Oh, Zeus! Captain, I----" Words fled from her mind before they could be voiced. She bit down on her fist, hard enough to draw blood.

Shaking and trembling, her knees gave way and she crumpled into the chair, drawing her legs up and tucking her head down until she was curled into the fetal position. She wasn't making a sound. Somehow that was more poignant than if she had been screaming or crying.

The first officer reached out tentatively to touch her shoulder. She recoiled even more, if that was possible. He threw a helpless glance at Janeway. She mouthed, "Sickbay?"

He nodded. "Malista?" No response. "Malista, we're sending you to Sickbay." Her body jerked, her head moved from side to side. "Not through the corridors or the bridge." Another shudder racked her. "We'll transport you."

No response. Her breathing was irregular as she took in air in small frantic gasps. He activated his commbadge. "Chakotay to Sickbay."

"Yes, Commander?" the doctor's cool voice replied.

"We have a---medical emergency. You have an incoming patient. Crewman Shadow

is---not well. Chakotay out." He cut off the communication before the doctor could

ask any inappropriate questions within the range of his patient's hearing.

The captain tapped her own commbadge. "Transporter room two, medical emergency. Beam Crewman Shadow to Sickbay." She disappeared in a sparkle of light.

Chakotay and Janeway regarded each other with consternation.

"I was trying to put her at ease," the captain said, settling herself into her chair, forcing herself to speak calmly, though she felt shaken.

"I know." He sat down heavily and wiped a hand across his brow to remove the dew of perspiration.

"What was that all about?" she asked. "Do you have any idea?"

"She's been under a lot of pressure," the commander said hesitantly. "I think it was the accumulation of a lot of different things. Somehow, the idea of getting promoted---" He lifted his hand in a helpless gesture. "That was a full blown anxiety attack."

"She seemed to just snap," Janeway concurred. "Do you think---will the doctor be able to help her?"

"I don't know. If Paris is still in Sickbay, he may be able to help. I think it's just a symptom of emotional overload. Too many bad experiences and emotional experiences---both good and bad---in too short a period of time. Our counseling sessions have been inadequate. She still refuses to open up to me completely. The Doctor and Tom and I talked about it yesterday," he informed her. "I just wish that probe hadn't chosen her as well. That can't have helped the situation. She's probably got the same health problems as Paris, but she wouldn't let anyone know about it. What should we tell Harry?"

"Give me a moment," the captain replied. "I'll think of something." She sighed. "I hope."

*******************************

The raised voice spilled through the doors of the ready room and onto the Bridge---not the words, the sound-proofing was too good for that. Nevertheless, Harry Kim recognized the shrill shouting as Malista's voice. Reflexively, he started to move around his Ops console.

"Ensign Kim." It was Tuvok.

Kim's eyes flew toward the Security Officer.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Have you found a method of detecting the probe's approach?"

With another uneasy glance toward the captain's private room, Kim returned his attention to the panel in front of him. "I think so. I've remodulated the sensors to alert us to any changes within the frequency range of the probe's energy signature. We should have a warning next time it approaches the ship."

"At what distance?"

Kim missed the question as sudden silence fell in the next room. Why would Malista be shouting? He'd never heard her shout---not once. What could the captain have said? How bad was the problem? Were the obscenities on her terminal the least of what Malista had been dealing with? Should he---

"Mr. Kim!" Tuvok didn't raise the volume of his voice, just the intensity. "At what distance will the probe be detectable?"

His words snapped in Harry's ears, warning him to focus his attention where it belonged. Kim gathered his thoughts and referred to his padd. "Uh---" He was interrupted by the chirp of the commlink.

"Janeway to Kim."

"Kim here, Captain."

"Please join me in my ready room."

"Yes, Captain." With an alacrity born of apprehension, Kim was around the Ops station and halfway to the ready room doors before Ayala could replace him.

As he stepped inside, his eyes searched for Malista Shadow. He'd watched her come in. She hadn't come out. He'd been too preoccupied to note that a transport had occurred. The captain and first officer met his eyes steadily.

Before he could formulate a question, Chakotay answered him. "We sent her to Sickbay, Harry. She became---hysterical." He hesitated over the word, wondering if it truly conveyed an accurate representation of what had occurred.

The young man gulped. "Why? Did you ask her about---"

"We didn't get that far," the captain stated softly. "She was very tense when she came in. I attempted to give her a compliment to make her feel more comfortable. Let's say, she didn't react in the manner I expected. I told her she'd been recommended for promotion. She started screaming that she didn't *want* a promotion."

Kim's face went totally blank as he tried to grasp the concept. "What? Why? Why would she---I don't understand."

"That makes three of us, Mr. Kim," Chakotay said heavily. "Sit down, Harry. We need to talk."

*******************************

Tom Paris had changed out of his uniform. Kes had suggested he make himself comfortable during the last round of tests. Since he was now officially on medical leave, he was wearing his favorite black jeans and a black tee-shirt. Smart woman, that Ocampan. She knew how much he hated Sickbay pajamas. Her wiliness had ensured his cooperation during the last three tests. The ones he'd been awake for. He hated tests.

Paris had finally been dismissed and was about to return to his quarters to try to get some sleep when he heard Chakotay's message. He stayed there to await Malista's arrival.

If Commander Chakotay hadn't identified the patient beaming in, the EMH wouldn't have recognized her immediately. She materialized curled tightly into a fetal position, head tucked down, hands now clasped behind her neck, face hidden between her arms and legs. When the transporter effect released her, she was lying on her side, unmoving on the floor, breathing shallowly and rapidly.

The doctor reached for a hypospray. Paris grasped his wrist and silently shook his head. Chakotay had advised him to go with his instincts. 'Okay, then here we go,' he thought. 'Ready or not, here I come.' He took a deep breath and assumed a calm he didn't feel.

Paris dropped down to sit cross-legged next to Shadow, not touching her, but sitting close enough to touch if it became necessary. In a cool, conversational voice, he said, "Malista, what the hell is going on here?"

The EMH frowned at Paris' cavalier attitude and would have spoken his disapproval aloud but, from the response he received, it seemed that the pilot knew what he was doing.

As she recognized his unruffled voice, Shadow's rigidity visibly lessened. Slowly, by degrees, she began to uncoil, stretching out on her side, her arms still wrapped around her head and covering her face. Her breath was still coming in short pants.

"Sis, breathe like a normal person," Tom ordered in a bored tone. "You keep hyperventilating and you'll pass out and be at the Doc's mercy for *hours*."

"Hmmph!" the doctor muttered, shooting an indignant glare at the pilot from under a furrowed brow. His justifiable resentment of the comment was somewhat mollified when Paris winked at him to indicate he wasn't serious. "If Malista is in need of assistance, she can have every confidence that I will provide it," the EMH stated clearly and firmly.

There was slight easing in the tension of her body. The normalcy of the conversation, the lack of embarrassing questions, and the fact that the two men present were trusted friends were all factors in helping her to reassert her self-control at her own pace.

Paris waited for another moment as her breathing evened out and became less labored. "Malista." This time he waited patiently for a reply. It was almost a full minute in coming.

"What?" Her voice was muffled and shaky, but at least she had finally responded.

"Let me give you some advice. If you want to clean the Sickbay floor, don't do it with your uniform," he said. "We have cleaning tools for that kind of thing."

One hand came down to swat tiredly and feebly at his leg. "Oh, shut up, Tom." She left her hand resting on his knee. He dropped his hand over hers. Her eyes opened to slits, watching him, trying to gauge his reaction to her behavior. He gave her hand a squeeze and winked at her.

"People are always telling me to shut up, Doc!" he complained loudly, looking up and signaling the EMH with his eyes that he should answer.

"I wonder why, Mr. Paris!?" the doctor said. "It's a mystery to me." He was intrigued by the lieutenant's handling of the situation and was recording it for further study. It might be helpful in developing and improving his own bedside manner.

"Some people just don't have a sincere appreciation for humor." Paris grimaced and got to his feet. He put his hands on his hips in his best Janeway impression and stared down at the young woman. "Sis, get up," he ordered. "If the Doc had a *real* emergency, they'd beam in on top of you. That could get embarrassing." He extended a hand in her direction.

She took it and staggered to her feet with his help, her muscles aching and protesting their mistreatment in being locked in place so tightly and for so long. He slipped an arm around her waist and led her to a biobed. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up, then seated himself next to her. He slipped a brotherly arm around her shoulders, carefully refraining from making her feel constrained, but allowing her to feel connected to and supported by his presence.

"Doc, are you going to run that scanny thing over her?" he asked in his most deliberately annoying nasal inflection. She winced and gently nudged him with her shoulder. She hated when he did that. That voice grated on her ears. He only used it when he wanted to annoy or tease her.

"Scanny thing?" the doctor echoed scathingly. "If you are referring to my diagnostic scanner, then yes, I am going to perform a scan." He suited his actions to his words. He noted that Paris had subtly warned and relaxed his nervous patient and made it possible for the EMH to approach without alarming her unduly. He made a note to do a study comparing the lieutenant's unusual methods with those of professional counselors. There seemed to be some correlation, regardless of whether the young man's actions were the result of training or instinct.

"I can predict what you'll find," Tom said smugly. "Headache, eye irritation, and a lack of sleep catching up with her. She's been riding on her emotions for too long. She needs rest and relaxation."

She let her head fall back to rest on his shoulder, eyes closing. "Good diagnosis, *Doctor* Paris. What's your next trick?"

"Well," he drawled, "I recommend the Doc give you some of that jungle juice he gave me. I was his test subject this morning and it worked on me. It lessens the headache. It doesn't get rid of the spots, but somehow they're less noticeable. Maybe the color is fading or they just aren't tap dancing any more. They're waltzing instead."

The doctor silently nodded his agreement of the pilot's summary. Aloud he scoffed, "Jungle juice? I will have you know, Mr. Paris, that this elixir is concocted from several natural herbs and the juices of certain fruits that produce---"

Paris waved him off. "Yeah. Sure, Doc. Jungle juice." Malista almost found the energy to laugh at the doctor's indignant expression.

The EMH injected her with the hypospray. "Here. I want you to wear these. Hopefully they will protect your eyes from further damage, should the probe reappear."

Paris and Shadow took the visor like objects from his hand. Paris unfolded the ear pieces and slipped the device on. They reminded him of the safety goggles worn when using superheated materials. "They're tinted. What are these things, Doc?"

The holodoctor all but preened. "They are optical instruments with polarized lenses designed to protect the human eye from glare or radiation. I got the idea from our visit to Earth of 1996. I took the design from something called RayBans. They were very popular for protection against ultraviolet radiation before the advent of the controlled weather satellite programs in the 22nd century."

Shadow reluctantly slid the glasses into place. "Everything looks----green."

"That facilitates the filtering process," the doctor explained then moved away to give them some privacy. Mr. Paris seemed to be dealing with the crisis satisfactorily, but the doctor prepared a sedative hypospray and kept it close at hand. Better to err on the side of caution.

Paris slid the glasses up and down his nose, finally leaving them in place. After a moment, he asked, "Feeling better?" She nodded. "Okay, so what happened, Sis?" She tensed. "Tell me," he insisted. "You know I'll find out anyway. Everyone tells me everything eventually. I have this power!"

She turned her head away from him and mumbled something under her breath.

"What?" He shook her shoulder. "Speak Standard, not Greek," he complained.

She looked at him with the beginnings of a displeased frown. "I *was* speaking Standard."

"Then speak it louder."

Her eyes dropped again. "I said," she whispered, "I *yelled* at the captain."

"What?" Paris couldn't believe his ears. If he'd been asked to predict what she was going to say---well, that certainly wouldn't have been on the list.

A little more loudly, becoming defensive, she said, "I YELLED at the CAPTAIN!"

"What did you yell?" he inquired politely.

She stared at him.

"Well, it makes a difference," he said offhandedly. "I mean if you called her names---like Ironpants Janeway or Killer Kathryn or the Bun of Steel---"

"Tom!"

He shrugged. "Okay. So you didn't call her names. What did you yell at her?"

She bit her lower lip, caught herself, and stopped. "She told me I was up for promotion to Ensign. I told her I didn't want a promotion. Very loudly."

"I wish I could have seen her face," Paris said wistfully. "And Chakotay's. I assume he was there? Do you think the security cams----"

"Tom!" she said again. "I YELLED at the captain!" She couldn't believe he didn't grasp the seriousness of her offense.

He raised his eyebrows. "So?" He looked only mildly interested. "Did she faint?"

"What? No!" She tried to pull away from him.

He refused to let her go. "Malista!" He waited till she stopped squirming and he had her full attention. "What do you think she's going to do? Space you? Trust me, the captain has been yelled at before. By the best of them, I'm sure. Including my own dear father, Admiral Paris. And believe me, he can tear a strip off you. Captain Janeway will *survive* being yelled at. You can apologize later. She's a reasonable woman. She'll forgive you. Right now, I want to know why. And why you turned into a basket case just because you lost your temper."

"Basket case?"

"Old Earth expression. Something to do with the guillotine, I think. When they lost their heads, people got carried off in a basket. Something like that. Stop trying to change the subject. Why would you get upset when you're offered a promotion? Most people would be glad for the recognition of their hard work. Why aren't you?"

She didn't answer, refusing to look at him.

His jaw tightened. Paris was not prepared to let her withdraw this time. Things had gone too far if she could lose control to the point of having an anxiety attack of the magnitude of the one he'd just witnessed.

It was time to deal with this. He just prayed he would know what to say. "Fine. You don't want to talk to me. I'll get Harry."

Her eyes flew to his, panicked. "No! You can't tell Harry!"

"Why not? Give me a reason, Sis, or I'm calling him to come to Sickbay right now. You will talk to me---or you talk to him." His blue eye were determined. He meant exactly what he said. "Or you can go back and yell at the captain some more," he added provocatively.

"I don't *want* a promotion," she said evenly.

"I figured that out. Why?"

She ducked her head and mumbled.

"Damn it, Malista! Answer me!"

Her body jerked and her eyes flew up to meet his. She'd never heard Tom sound so angry---at least, not at her. "I said because everyone will think the rumors are true!"

He sighed tiredly. "Which *rumors* are we talking about *this* time?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes ran around Sickbay, pausing for just a moment on the entrance. He got the message. Anyone could come in. At any time.

"Okay, fine," the lieutenant said. He turned to the EMH. "Doc, I think we're going to continue this little therapy session in a more private locale. Would you be willing to place Malista on medical leave for today as well?"

"Of course," the hologram agreed. He gestured Paris closer with a beckoning finger and they stepped out of the young woman's earshot. "If it is your intention to provoke a reaction and allow Malista to vent her anger, I feel I should warn you that it may be hazardous."

Paris' aristocratic features took on a haughty, reproachful air. "Malista will not hurt me." There was no sign of doubt in his azure eyes. "I'm taking her to the holodeck for some privacy. She may get angry. She may be furious. But she would never hurt me. And I *will* help her."

"I will monitor your---conference from here, but I promise not to interfere unless necessary to ensure her safety or yours," the doctor stated. "Tom? I feel I should warn you. She has been repressing her emotions for some time. She may resent your part in leading her to release them and make you the object of her deep seated resentment and rage. You should also know that she may never forgive you for your part in this."

The pilot's mouth twisted bitterly. "I know that, Doc. Sometimes you have to be willing to lose someone's love in order to do what's best for them. And I'm a gambler, remember? Or I used to be. I'd say the odds are about fifty-fifty, at this point. But even if * I * lose her, I'll make sure Harry won't. I'll take that deal. Would you notify the captain and the commander for me?"

The EMH nodded. He waited until the duo had departed for the holodeck before he signaled the Bridge.

**************

"Harry, it's obvious Malista is emotionally---overwrought." Chakotay chose his words carefully. "We would prefer to ask her about any harassment---"

"I don't know that she would answer your questions, Commander," the ensign confided uneasily. His fear of betraying a confidence was overridden by his fear for Malista's mental and emotional health. "I found out by accident, last night that someone has been sending her---" He trailed off as he glanced at the captain and tried to think of how he could explain the contents of the messages and their impact on Shadow without embarrassing himself or his superior officers. "She's been getting obscene messages on her terminal. Tom and I figured out that she's probably been receiving them for weeks. That's why she hasn't been sleeping much."

"Obscene?" The captain's tone asked for clarification. "How obscene? I mean, in what manner?" She cleared her throat and plowed on. "Harry, I'm sorry. Could you give us some idea of the---content? It's not necessary to, uh, give details. Just a general idea."

Harry's face was flushed and hot, but he maintained control of his expression. "I only saw one. Malista didn't report them and has been deleting them as she got them. It was threatening. Sexually threatening. Crude comments about---her body and what they---he wanted to do to her. Not with her. *To* her." Kim had reached his limit. "I saved the one from last night. If you'd like to---"

"Maybe later," Chakotay said. "Do you know if Malista has been bothered in any other way? Comments or unwelcome advances?"

The young man looked miserable. "She won't talk to me. Or to Tom. I know something has been bothering her, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. She kept saying she wanted to handle her own problems. After I, uh, got so jealous for no reason before, I think she's afraid I won't believe her. Until I found the message, I didn't have any clue as to what was bothering her."

The comm system signaled. "Please turn to your Emergency Holographic Channel."

The captain hit the control and the doctor's unsmiling visage appeared on the viewscreen. "Yes, Doctor?"

"I have placed Crewman Malista Shadow on medical leave. She will not be reporting for duty today."

"How is she?" Harry blurted, throwing protocol out the airlock without a thought.

"She is---recovering. Mr. Paris was able to calm her and bring her out of her self-induced anxiety attack. She was breathing normally when she left and her vital signs were nearing normal parameters," the EMH reported.

"When she left? You dismissed her from Sickbay?" Janeway asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not exactly. I released her into Mr. Paris' care. He is going to attempt to persuade Malista to discuss her problems in a more private setting. He is confident that she will talk to him. He plans to insist on it. Vehemently, if necessary."

"Doc, where---" Kim began.

"Mr. Kim, I know you are concerned, but I do not think your presence would be helpful." The doctor tried his 'sympathetic smile'. It wasn't terribly successful, but it was improving with practice. "Malista seems reluctant to speak to anyone. It is Tom's intention to compel her to confide in him in order to give her the opportunity to verbalize the reasons for her emotional distress. He believes---"

"Doctor," Chakotay interrupted, "I'll explain to Mr. Kim. Thank you." The doctor nodded his agreement and closed the communication channel. "Captain?"

Janeway nodded toward her first officer, got to her feet, and moved toward the exit. "Take all the time you need, gentlemen." She returned to the bridge.

After her departure, Kim waited impatiently for Chakotay to begin. Finally, he couldn't stand the silence. "Commander, what is going on? What's wrong with Malista? Why can't I go see her? She may need me."

Chakotay was shaking his head before the ensign had finished his first sentence. He'd been trying to decide how much detail he should go into and wondering how to explain to the younger man what he, Tom, and the EMH had discussed. "I'm sorry, Harry. She wouldn't want you to see her right now. I'm sure."

"Why not? I only want to help her! I love her!" His impassioned voice and expression were absolutely convincing.

Chakotay sat forward, studying the young man carefully. "Have you told her that?"

"Yes."

"Harry, I don't want to intrude on your personal life---"

"Commander, I don't think you have a choice. I want to know and I want to know now. What is going on?"

*****************

Tom had chosen the holodeck program of Lake Como for several good reasons. It was a peaceful setting, but it was also a not-so-subtle reminder of the roots of the friendship between the two of them. It was here that he and Malista had first talked at length and made a start at confiding in each other. It was here that she had planned to commit suicide and it was here that he had stopped her, earning first her anger then, eventually, her gratitude.

He led her to the picnic table and bench under the shade of the tree overlooking the lake. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the still waters near the lake shore and stole a quick moment to admire the look of the RayBans. They suited him.

"Groovy," he said approvingly, with a fond smile in remembrance of Raine Robinson. While waiting for Tuvok to return with breakfast, she'd finally told him, much to his embarrassment, that the word was at least twenty years out of date by the time he'd used it in 1996.

With a quick glance at Malista, he slipped off his pair, then removed hers, and set them on the picnic table. Tom wanted to be able to read the changes in her expression and her eyes were a dead giveaway of her feelings, at least to him. Plus, his own eyes were often his best means of communication. He wasn't willing to sacrifice that advantage for the possible protection the eyewear might provide in a situation that might not arise.

She stood next to the bench and made an effort to relax. In the distance, on what appeared to be the horizon, sailboats glided to and fro with bright, colorful sails fully unfurled and making rainbow patterns against the purplish blue sky.

Paris gave her a moment to contemplate the beauty of her surroundings before he broke the silence. "This is peaceful, isn't it?"

"Yes. You were right about the doctor's 'jungle juice'. The headache is sort of blurred around the edges. It's not gone, but it's manageable. And the spots do seem duller. How strange. I wonder why----"

"The privacy lock is activated. We're alone. Are you ready to talk now?"

"About what?" she asked warily, as she turned to face him. She hoped if she forced him to define the limits of the conversation he might miss zeroing in on the source of her anxiety and she could divert him to a less threatening topic. It was a method that had served her well in the past. It clouded the issues and made direct lies unnecessary.

He understood her better than she'd thought. He didn't fall for that tactic. It was probably one he'd used himself.

The roguish pilot looked positively parental in demeanor as he drew himself up to his full height, folded his arms across his chest and frowned at her demandingly. "Make no mistake here, Malista. We *are* going to talk. No more evasions, half-truths, changing the subject, or telling me what you think I want to hear. You are going to tell me what has been making you tense and scared and robbing you of sleep. Then you and I will decide how to deal with it. Whatever it is." He paused.

She stared up at him mutely, her eyes meeting his, then darting away.

"Harry told me about the messages," he added.

She gulped her dismay at this revelation, and dropped her eyes. Her knees gave way and she sank down onto the bench beside her. She'd hoped she'd have more time to come up with a story, an excuse, something.

"Do you know who's sending the messages?" he asked gently, crouching next to her without touching her.

She shook her head mutely, her eyes fixed on her clasped hands in her lap. "Did he---did he tell you what they said?"

"No. Just that they were nasty. I don't have to know the details. I don't want to. What I do need to know is why you didn't report them to Security? Or tell Harry? Or me? Or B'Elanna? Or even Chakotay? It's not like we all haven't been asking you what was wrong. Why didn't you tell us, Malista?" he insisted.

"I didn't want you to think---I thought maybe I---" Her hesitant words faltered.

"You thought we'd blame you?" he said, disappointment coloring his pleasant tenor. "Tell me, Sis, did you ever reply to one of the messages?"

"No." Her voice was very small.

"Did you put a notice on the ship's bulletin board asking for a porno penpal?" he asked in the same matter-of-fact tone.

"No! Tom!" She straightened in revulsion and tried to recoil from him, but he latched onto her wrist and held her in place.

"Then you aren't to blame."

"How can you know?" she cried, twisting her arm, trying to pull it out of his grasp.

He refused to let her slip away from him. "No more hiding, Malista. I know you aren't to blame, because I know the kind of pervert who gets his thrills by assaulting and sickening someone with an anonymous attack like this. It's probably someone who was afraid to approach you directly with a proposition. Afraid of rejection, or afraid you'd have him thrown in the brig. Or maybe someone who just has a grudge against you for whatever sick reason in his own mind. Someone who knew or guessed that you wouldn't report it. Someone who knew it would get to you. I know *you*. I know you wouldn't knowingly encourage something like this. That's how I know it isn't your fault."

She shook her head mulishly, miserably. "It has to be."

"How could it be your fault some deviant decided to send that filth to you? You said you didn't reply or ask for it. Come on, Sis," he said, shaking her arm lightly when she failed to respond. "I can't wait to hear this one."

"I must have done something. Said something. To someone. They wouldn't do something like this and keep it up, if they didn't think I wanted it. I *must* have done something."

Paris almost growled under his breath in exasperation, but caught himself. That's what he got for hanging around with half-Klingons he supposed. "Malista, listen to me, it's not your fault. You don't *have* to do anything to encourage that type of mistreatment. *Except* to let it go on. And you did do that! That part of the blame is yours. You could have put a stop to this after the first one by reporting it. How long have the messages been coming to your terminal? One week? Two?"

"Forty-two. I've gotten forty-two messages," she choked out. "Almost every night. At first they weren't too bad. Just kind of rude. But they kept getting worse." Now that she'd begun talking, she couldn't seem to stop. The feeling of relief was incredible as the pressure of keeping secrets eased as the words flowed out. "They got worse after Harry and I broke up. Then when Harry and I---after we got back together, they got even worse. I kept thinking they couldn't get any worse, but they did. More specific. More sadistic. I stopped reading them. I just deleted them right away. As soon as I saw what they were." She held herself with her free arm and began rocking back and forth as she spoke.

Tom released his hold on her forearm, stood, and reseated himself on the bench behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her head back to lie on his shoulder, and started rocking along with her as she lay cradled against his chest. She absorbed his warmth, drawing strength from his figurative and literal support.

Paris was doing the math in his head. The messages had started not long after Dishon had died. So this probably had nothing to do with him or a desire to hurt Harry Kim somehow. It had everything to do with persecuting Malista herself. He was sure Tuvok would find that interesting.

After a few moments, the lieutenant decided it was time for the next step. "What else?"

She stiffened in his arms, the rocking motion ceasing. "What?"

"Sis, you're answering a question with a question again," he rebuked mildly, releasing his hold on her and turning her to face him. "What else has been going on? Computer messages wouldn't be enough to get you into this state of anxiety. So something else has been going on. You and Harry seem to be getting along. Is it B'Elanna? Are you having trouble working with her?" He fervently hoped for a negative answer, but made sure that hope didn't show in his demeanor.

"No, of course not," she replied. "She's a good supervisor. She lets you know what's expected and demands your best performance. I don't have a problem with that." There was a hint of a proud smile as she added, "She says I do an excellent job. I'm good at repairs and she knows she can count on me. That's what she said and I believe her. She wouldn't tell me that if it wasn't true."

"You're right there," Paris chuckled. "My B'Ella is not known for diplomacy in dealing with her staff. She doesn't suffer fools gladly. She told me she was glad you and Nicoletti have the good sense to fix what needed fixing and ask for help if you needed it. That seems to have been a problem with other members of the engineering staff?"

Malista nodded, smiling slightly and remembering an incident---actually several incidents. Working in Engineering was never dull with its volatile Chief.

Paris persisted in returning to the topic of conversation she didn't want to deal with. "So it's not Harry or B'Elanna. So that brings us back to my question: what else is going on?"

Her face fell once more. "Tom, I can handle it---"

"You're not handling it! You're avoiding it. It's not going to go away because you pretend it isn't there! Any more than those messages did. Tell me what's going on."

No reply.

Coaxingly, he tried once more. "Sis, I promise you I won't blame you. Tell me what's going on."

There was still no verbal response, but this time she did succeed in pulling away from him. She got to her feet and walked down to the edge of the lake, rearranging the mud there with the toe of her boot. It gave her something other than Tom to focus on.

Paris took a deep breath that almost ended in a gasp of surprise as he felt those 'instincts' Chakotay had spoken of kick in. He suddenly knew, without knowing how he knew, that this or something like it had happened to Malista Shadow before.

He stopped about six feet behind her. He didn't want to invade her personal space again without her permission. That didn't seem to be working. It was up to her to make the next move. Before he could think logically and argue himself out of speaking, he said the first thing that came into mind. "Who didn't believe you last time? Who made you take the blame the last time?"

Her head snapped up, she darted a quick, disbelieving glance at him, then refocused on the mud. "My father. My brothers."

"Are we talking here about Huldon III?" he calmly queried. "Or before that."

"Before that," she mumbled.

"How long before?" He moved a step closer.

"When I was thirteen," she whispered.

He took another step closer so he could catch her words. His hands automatically lifted towards her, wanting to touch, to hold, to comfort. He forced them back down by his sides. He could try to persuade her with words, but he wouldn't use physical means of persuasion. It would make them both too uncomfortable.

"You were---raped---at thirteen?" he croaked, somehow ashamed, but not surprised, that his voice broke in his horror at the thought.

"No," she shot back, her voice gaining in volume, as if having made the decision to tell him had strengthened her in some manner. "Not---quite."

Her gaze trailed away to the colorful sails on the boats on the holographic horizon. "I started a real growth spurt when I was twelve. I was growing taller very quickly. And I was getting---" She made a helpless gesture toward her breasts.

"You were developing?" Tom offered. He detected a little gasp of surprised laughter. "Hey, I had older sisters. Granted, I didn't pay much attention, but even I remember all the angst they went through when they suddenly sprouted---Never mind. You were saying?"

"Let's just say I was beginning to look very womanly. I probably looked older than my age because of it," Malista speculated, not sounding happy about the idea. "Any way, I grew very quickly and my coordination wasn't really keeping up. So my father gave me permission to take dancing lessons. I started walking into town once a week for lessons from a woman who worked with our circus in the sideshow sometimes. She was an exotic dancer, but she'd learned all kinds of dancing and gymnastics and she thought lessons might help me with coordination, flexibility. You know."

"I bet you were a great dancer. You still are." Once or twice, Tom had come to the holodeck early and caught her dancing alone as her warm-up for their workouts, but she'd refused to share her dancing with anyone and stopped as soon as anyone arrived.

She sent a half smile over her shoulder at him. "I was enthusiastic, at least. I loved it. I loved music. All kinds of music. Singing was wonderful, but I *loved* the dancing. All kinds of dancing. It was almost as good as flying. When I was dancing, I felt so free! I wanted to learn every dance Mariza knew. I told my father I wanted to be a dancer when I grew up." Her face saddened.

"Let me guess," Tom said. "He said you couldn't. Why? Did he bother to give you a reason?"

She nodded. "I wasn't good enough. I was too tall. I'd never make any money at it. All kinds of reasons. Well, I was a good student. Mariza taught me everything---ballroom dancing, jazz dancing, ballet, all kinds of dancing from many different worlds. She taught me some gymnastics routines as warm-up exercises. And all kinds of dances," she repeated. "Some were very athletic and acrobatic and others were very controlled and graceful. At the time, I just thought of the dances as---exercises. Fun exercises. It was a way to let me feel in control of my body, my muscles. I just threw myself into every dance, not thinking about what other people would think if they saw me."

"Uh-oh. Do I take it she taught you some of her 'exotic' dances?" Tom already had a pretty good idea how her father would have reacted to that. Especially if Malista was wearing the appropriate costume for each dance.

"Yes." A mischievous grin flashed toward him. "Did I mention Mariza was half Orion and half human?"

The image that leapt to mind took Tom's breath away. "Oh, my." It was inadequate, but all he could manage. The temperature in the holodeck suddenly seemed much higher. He tugged at the v-neck of his black tee-shirt.

"Yeah. That's what all the men thought. But at the time, I didn't think of the dances she taught me as being suggestive, or sexy. I mean, I was only thirteen. I hadn't even really noticed boys then. I'd had enough of the male of the species just dealing with my father and five older brothers. I was totally outnumbered after my mother died." She'd returned to drawing patterns in the mud with the toe of her boot.

She took a deep breath. "But someone else saw me dancing. And it gave him ideas. He was a salesman visiting the colony. He was watching through the window of Mariza's studio. She caught him at it once and made him go away. Then a couple of days later, he followed me when I started home."

Paris wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to close his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the expression of pain on her face. He did neither. He *really* didn't want to hear this. But she needed to tell it, probably the first time she'd ever told it. He clamped down on his feelings, keeping his neutral mask in place with an effort that bleached his knuckles white as his hands clenched into fists.

"Looking back, he wasn't very bright about how he--- Maybe it was his first time to try something like that. Or he thought I wouldn't object. He waited till I got outside of town and then he approached me. I was so stupid!" Her voice broke on a sob. "He called out to me and asked me to stop. And I did! Can you believe I was so *stupid*?"

Tom took another step closer. He was within arm's reach now, waiting for her to turn to him. If she would. He wanted to be there to catch her if she fell---figuratively or literally. But, at this moment, as she was lost in memories of the past, he had a hunch that his touch wouldn't be welcomed.

It was up to her this time. *She* had to reach out to him. If she would. Or could. He would be there when she was ready.

"He kept talking about how he was lost and needed directions, while I stood there like an idiot and let him get close to me. Then he grabbed me and dragged me behind some trees off to the side of the road. He tried to kiss me, and he started tearing at my clothes, and I couldn't breathe, and he knocked me d-d-down---" The tears were running freely down her cheeks as she stammered to a stop. She gulped. "Then the next thing I knew, my brother Giorgios was pulling him off me. He and Stephanos and Demetrios were going into town for some supplies when they heard me scream. Funny, I don't even remember screaming."

She shrugged. "Demetrios held me and helped me cover myself with his jacket, while Stephanos and Giorgios beat the man---half to death. I was afraid they weren't going to stop. I thought they were going to kill him. Right there. They might have, but the constable of the village came and arrested the man. I was screaming and crying hysterically. My clothes were torn, my skin was scratched from his nails, my nose and mouth were bleeding. The boys were all cursing and shouting. The man was---there was blood all over---"

"Malista." The quiet voice called her back to the present. It was an effort for Paris to prevent the revulsion from showing in his voice. He didn't want her to think it was meant for her.

"I don't even remember hearing about how he was punished. I didn't testify at the trial. No one would tell me anything. They didn't want to upset me." She threw off the memories as if shrugging a cape off her shoulders. "I used to laugh and smile at people all the time. I wasn't always a 'Stoneface'---an 'Ice Princess'. Until I learned what smiling at the wrong person could cost me."

Tom grimaced. He hadn't realized she knew the names she was called behind her back. He had hoped she hadn't heard them and been hurt by them. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

Her mouth twisted. "He said---I smiled at him. Demetrios told me. That man told the constable, that I smiled at him. That's why he--- After that, I never went anywhere without one or more of my brothers or my father. Never. And I never took another dancing lesson."

"Your father blamed you?"

She nodded as she raised her hands to wipe at the tears on her cheeks. "He said the dances were obscene. The studio shouldn't have had a window. That I must have done something to---to entice---to make the man think I would---wouldn't mind what he wanted to do to me."

"And you believed him?"

"Of course," she said, lifting a hand, palm upward. "He was my father. He wouldn't lie to me. He loved me. He wanted what was best for me."

"No, he didn't," Paris contradicted. "He imprisoned you. How was that best for you?"

"He wanted to keep me safe," she argued.

"But he didn't teach you how to fight back? To protect yourself?"

"No. He said that's what I have---had brothers for. And a husband when the time was right." She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "Little did he know, huh? That it was never going to come up? But he predicted it anyway! He said if I went with the Maquis that I'd regret it. That I'd be attacked again and my brothers wouldn't be there to help me. He said only sluts ran away from home. When they were in heat. I didn't know then what he meant, but I found out. Oh, did I find out." A sob tore its way free from her throat. Her hands flew to cover her mouth as if to suppress any others, prevent their escape.

"It wasn't your fault!" Paris persisted.

"I *must* have done something. I'm just so stupid---"

"Stop that!" Paris snapped. "You are not stupid. Who told you that you're stupid?"

She didn't answer. "Let me guess. Your father. Why? Did you make another career choice he didn't approve of?"

"I wanted to be an acrobat or gymnast. He said I was too tall. Then I thought about being a doctor. He said I couldn't pass the entrance exams. That I wasn't smart enough." She still refused to look at him.

"He was wrong. He lied to you. I've seen your test scores. The doctor showed me your records. Your intelligence level is above average. Borderline genius." There was no room for argument with the pilot's flat statement. "You're smart enough to do anything you want to do."

"No, there must be a mistake. That couldn't be true. My father---"

"He was wrong about a lot of things, Malista. He wanted you to stay home on the farm with him, right? So he would say anything it took to keep you there."

She shook her head, fists clenching at her sides. "No. He wouldn't do that. He loved me. He wouldn't lie to me. He loved me!"

"He manipulated you. He used your guilt and shame over being attacked to control you." Tom's voice remained level and unemotional. "Then when you finally rebelled against him and joined the Maquis, he disowned you. That's not love. That's control. You have a right to be angry with him. What he did was wrong."

She began to tremble with the effort of staying on her feet. She spun to stare defiantly into his eyes, taking a step back to increase the distance between them and almost tumbling into the water.

Paris tried to catch her, but she stumbled away from him, out of his reach.

Her chin was quivering, her eyes full of tears that she refused to release. "Stop saying those things! You don't know what you're talking about! You're saying my father didn't love me! But he did! I know he did!"

Tom Paris now had a new understanding of the word 'heartache'. His heart literally ached with sympathy for her pain. "I'm not saying he didn't love you, Sis. I'm saying he didn't know how. He loved the person he wanted you to be. But he didn't want you to grow up. He loved you, but *he* messed it up. His fault, not yours."

"How would you know?" She was still resisting the truth, denying it, though she could see it now laid out before her as clearly as a starchart. She needed more from Tom Paris before she could allow herself to believe he spoke the truth. She needed some proof that he wasn't just stealing a trick from her book and telling her what she wanted to hear.

"Because my father and your father probably have a lot in common," Tom replied sadly. It was so hard for him to talk about his father. He inhaled deeply, hoping he could get it out before his throat closed completely. "I could never please my father either. And it took me years to discover that it wasn't about *me*. I don't think I really accepted that until---until I wound up in the Delta Quadrant. With Captain Janeway's help and Harry's friendship and trust, I found out I wasn't the general screwup everyone expected me to be."

He paused as he tried to measure just how much detail he needed to go into for her to understand what he meant. "My problems with my father were all about *his* expectations. It didn't matter what I did or how well I did it. He didn't want me, the real Tom Paris, as his son. He wanted to create me in his own image. He was so busy trying to shape and mold the son he wanted, he never got to know the son he actually had. And, who knows? He might have actually *liked* me, if he'd ever let me just BE me. Does that make sense?" He could detect the sympathy in her eyes. He'd reached her. Now if she would just apply what he'd said....

"Yes, Tom, it does." For the first time since they'd come to the holodeck, she moved toward him rather than away from him.

She placed her hand on his, then looked away at the boats so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes as she continued. "My father wanted me to become the perfect farmer's wife. Especially after my mother died. I took over the household duties, even though I was terrible at them---except for cooking. I wanted to be out in the barn, fixing the machinery, repairing the equipment. I always was an engineering type."

She paused and shrugged. "If I had gone into medicine, I probably would have worked in the technical end. You know, inventing or repairing equipment. I was always persistent and curious. I wanted to learn how to perform every act in the circus. In addition to performing on the trapeze and high wire, I apprenticed with a different act every season. My father didn't mind that. He said it kept me busy and out of mischief. But I also wanted to learn the technical side of farming, how to work on the machinery. So I made a deal. My youngest brothers, Androcles and Spiro were put in charge of repairs but they weren't good at it or very much interested either. My father told them if they would just apply themselves---"

"That sounds familiar," Tom remarked. "That's what I heard every single grading period. No matter how good my grades were. If I could get a 95, why couldn't I get 100? If I got 100 in all but one subject, he only noticed the one I missed. Finally, I just gave up trying so hard. If I wasn't going to please him anyway, I decided I should have some fun along the way doing the things I was interested in."

She smiled ruefully. "Yes. Your father does sound a lot like mine. He expected every one of his children to be the best at everything and he didn't accept excuses. He thought all we had to do was try harder and we should be able to anything. It seemed to work for him, but not for us."

A reminiscent smile lit her usually solemn features. "Andy and Spiro were supposed to be doing a home schooling course on repairing and building farm equipment, but I took the lessons too. Andy used to let me work on the machines if father wasn't around. And in return, Andy helped me with the housework and Spiro did the gardening. Until papa found out. The whole family got into an uproar. Papa accused the three of us of conspiring behind his back. He said I wasn't acting like a real woman or I would leave men's work to the men. Spiro and Andy were upset because he accused them of acting like women and of spoiling me. Demetrios tried to calm everyone down, but then---That's when we got the message that Giorgios and Stephanos had been killed. And the next day, I ran away and joined the Maquis---" She sighed heavily.

She burst into tears, turning to bury her head on his shoulder. He let her cry without interruption for as long as she needed. When the sobs began to subside, he pressed a handkerchief into her hand. "How do you feel?"

She mopped her face as she considered her answer. She gave him a twisted smile. "Broken."

"It's when you feel broken that you can clear away all the old rubble and begin to build again. You're not alone. We're all building a new life on Voyager, Sis. Some of us just had to clear away the ruins of our pasts before we could begin again."

She hugged him tightly. He was beginning to feel like a teddy bear, by the time she sat back. This time her smile was more genuine, tinged with relief at having a huge burden removed from her soul by his intervention. For the first time in a long time, she felt a slight twinge of hope lighten her mood. She knew her recovery from trauma and anxiety wasn't over, but she'd made a beginning. And he was still there. She hadn't scared him away. And if Tom hadn't run, maybe Harry wouldn't either?

Paris cleared his throat to regain her attention. "Malista, your father loved you, but he tried to make you fit into a box of his own design. When you didn't fit, he tried to force you to fit. You were smart enough to get out. At least it didn't take a major disaster like Caldik Prime to get you to go your own way. You've come so far. Don't let him push you back into that box after all this time."

"I don't understand."

"You *aren't* to blame for being attacked---not when you were thirteen. Not on Huldon III. And not now. Not on Voyager. So tell me about what else is going on."

He turned his hand in hers to clasp her fingers lightly. "Then we'll see if we can

put a stop to it."

She raised her eyes and searched his face. Whatever she was looking for, she evidently found it and her expression softened with trust. "All right. Do you want to sit down?"

"Only if we both promise to stay seated. This jumping up and down is making me motion sick," he whined.

She smiled at that highly unlikely possibility. "Promise." When they were seated comfortably, she began. "The day after the night Harry and I made up---Full Moon Night---there were a lot of rumors flying around the ship. Everywhere I went people were asking me questions. Some of them weren't very nice about it."

"I told you---"

"I know," she interrupted. "Empty wagons rattle. I tried to ignore it, but I wasn't ready for that much public attention. It's strange to know that everyone is talking about you. But that wasn't the main thing. Some of the Starfleet crewmen---they started saying things."

"Things like?" Tom asked, eyebrows at attention.

"Things more direct than rumors or questions. Like did I think Harry could---do I have to get specific?" she asked plaintively.

"How specific did *they* get?" inquired the pilot uncomfortably.

"Very."

"Then don't. Save the details for your complaint to Security." He made it sound like filing a report was a foregone conclusion.

"Tom---"

"Malista." His blue eyes were stern. This was not a negotiable point as far as he was concerned. "Go on. Was it just words?"

"At first. They *looked* at me, too. I mean, more than just looking. Leering. Like they were imagining---"

He held up a hand. "Yeah. I can imagine. Go on. What did you do about it?"

"After a few days of me ignoring them, most of it stopped. Except for two men in particular. I tried to avoid them, but I couldn't always. Sometimes we'd share a turbolift, or I'd pass them in a corridor, and they'd say things under their breath to me. Ask me if I wanted to---call out to me---tell me they---I can't talk about this," she sighed defeatedly. "It's just too embarrassing."

"I assume as time went on, they didn't give up. Did they touch you? Threaten you?" Paris' voice seemed deeper, angrier, colder.

"The first few times *could* have been accidents. At least that's what I told myself. They'd brush up against me as they passed. A hand would graze my hip or my breast. There was nothing I could say without looking stupid. They'd just claim it was an accident and I'd look like an hysterical fool. That was about the extent of it, until---" She sighed heavily. She picked up the sunglasses from the table and began to play with them. It gave her something to do with her hands.

He ducked his head and caught her eyes. "Come on, Sis. Tell me. It's good practice for when you tell it to Tuvok."

This time she didn't let him get away with the implication. "Tom, I can't file a report."

"Sis, you can't NOT file a report." He immediately frowned. "That doesn't sound right. You know what I mean. You tried ignoring it. They won't be ignored. You told them to take a flying leap at a warp coil, right?"

"Not exactly," she admitted. "I told them to leave me alone, but they kept saying I was playing games. That a woman who looked like me---That I really wanted them. "

"Oh," Paris nodded sagely. "A *real* pair of dimwits. 'No' means 'maybe' and 'maybe' means 'yes'. These dimwits have names?"

"Why do you want to know?" she asked suspiciously.

"Not so I can beat them to death. Or even half to death. Though I'll admit, the idea has some merit," Tom answered, keeping his voice light, his face impassive. He should have known she could read him too well to be fooled.

"Tom, this is one reason I didn't want to tell you---or Harry. I've had a taste of freedom now. I don't want to find myself caged again! Even for my own protection!"

Tom eyed her speculatively. "Think about that, Sis. Do you really think that would happen? Knowing me? Knowing Harry?"

Her voice faltered. "I don't know. It happened with my family. It happened with Niko. I don't want to have to go back to staying in my quarters every moment I'm not on duty, and being escorted everywhere when I'm out of my quarters."

"Malista, you didn't need me or Harry to do that to you. You did it all by yourself." Tom watched the impact of his words strike her and realization dawned in her eyes to be replaced by something akin to horror.

"Oh, Zeus. You're right. I did." She blinked back tears. "I did it to myself. The Maquis, especially Gerron, have been escorting me everywhere when I'm not with you or Harry. And I've hardly left my quarters at all for weeks. I am so---"

"If you say stupid, I may hit you," Paris threatened mockingly. "One more time, Sis:

You are NOT stupid. Don't say that again or I won't be held responsible for what I'll do. I understand why you reacted that way. You fell back into a safe pattern of behavior when you felt threatened. That's natural. You have a right to be angry at those men for making you feel threatened. Get angry with them. Not yourself. Harry and I will help you. One of us, or both of us if you want, will go with you to file a report. And we won't blame you. We want to help you, not make you feel guilty. Now, can we tackle one more topic?"

She nodded slowly, unsure what he was going to bring up next, knowing only that it would make her uneasy to deal with it.

"What's this all about?" His hand reached up to lightly touch the tightly twisted hair piled on top of her head. His finger stroked her cheek.

"What do you mean?" She was genuinely puzzled.

"Pulling your hair up into the Bun of Steel style that even Capt. Janeway abandoned. Frowning all the time like you just tasted Neelix's leola root stew. Giving up on wearing makeup during duty hours. Are you trying to look unattractive?" Paris inquired.

She flushed with embarrassment. "Yes. I thought if I was doing something to attract attention, that maybe it would go away if----"

"Did you take that Gawaine and the Loathely Lady story a bit too seriously? You want to look good for Harry---at night. But you want to look hideous---or as close as you can get---during the day when other people can see you? To keep you safe from their attentions?"

"I guess that might be where I got the idea," she confessed reluctantly. "Being attractive hasn't exactly been a positive experience. I attract people I don't WANT to attract---except for Harry. I can't seem to stay invisible on this ship any more. I thought that if I made myself ugly, people would ignore me or leave me alone."

"Did it work?" he scoffed.

"Not very well," she conceded.

"Never work," he commented lazily. "Even a blind man would find you attractive. Your voice is like warm honey. You have a sweet, gentle character. Your insides are as lovely as your outsides. And for those fortunate enough to see you, you are what my mom used to call 'beautiful to the bone'. The only way you're going to look unattractive enough to prevent anyone from wanting you is to disfigure yourself surgically or something drastic like that. I don't think the Doc would do it and I'm certain Harry wouldn't appreciate it. Your behavior lately has confused the hell out of him, you know. You've hurt him. You won't talk to him and he's afraid it's all his fault."

"Nothing is *his* fault!" she stated indignantly.

"Oh, please! Don't tell Harry that!" Paris groaned. "He's died twice and come back. You tell him *that* and he really will develop delusions of godhood!"

Malista couldn't believe she could giggle at that jab. "Tom, you know what I mean."

He sobered. "Yes, I do. But I also know that Harry loves you. He wants you to be healthy and happy and he's willing to help you in any way he can. You're being very cruel to keep shutting him out."

Her jaw dropped as she was presented with an entirely new point of view. "I wasn't shutting him out!"

"No, you were protecting him. Isn't that what you said you didn't want him to do to you? You didn't want to tell him what was going on because you thought he'd blame you, or smother you with protection. You didn't give him a chance. You just shut him out. You've really hurt him, Malista," he concluded solemnly. "He's afraid he's going to lose you. And you're important to him, whether you believe that or not."

"Tom, I didn't know. I wasn't sure how he really felt. I didn't think that he--" She bit her lip.

"You thought it was just hormones? Oh, come on, Malista! If it was hormones, he wouldn't still be waiting to---you know. He'd have taken you up on your offer to 'just do it' a long time ago. Harry is emotionally involved." Paris rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension building there and at the base of his skull.

It was crucial that she understand this point. He spoke slowly and emphatically. "There is a difference between a healthy love and protectiveness and one that's carried to extremes the way your father and brothers did. Yes, Harry wants to protect you, but he is not such a control freak that he expects to wrap you up and store you in your quarters for safekeeping---like Niko Dishon did. There's a healthy balance that can be found if you both work at it. But that means you have to talk to each other, be honest with each other, and work it out together. This business of shutting him out of parts of your life just isn't going to work. Especially not here on Voyager. The ship is too small." He glanced down at her.

She was staring calmly and thoughtfully at her fingertips. If Tom believed her, didn't blame her, then it was likely that Harry would feel the same way. The two of them agreed more than they disagreed about anything important. Maybe she wouldn't lose him after all. Maybe there was a chance she could keep Harry a while longer. Maybe.

"Malista?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I was just thinking I need to bake a lot of gingerbread men and baklava to soften Harry up for all the apologizing I need to do."

"Oooh. Can I have the leftovers?" he teased boyishly, relieved to leave heavy emotionalism behind.

"Yes. If there are any." Catching him by surprise, she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly once more. "Thank you, Big Brother. How did you ever get to be so wise?"

He couldn't speak for a moment. He hugged her back, relaxing for the first time in---he checked his chronometer---forty-five minutes? They'd run the gamut of emotion in forty-five minutes? Wow.

He cleared his throat. "You'd be surprised the things you learn in prison," he responded.

She squeezed more tightly. "Don't feed *me* that line of felgercarb!" She giggled against his shoulder.

"Acck! Sis, if you strangle me, I can't feed you anything," he protested automatically.

She released him and sat back to study his face. "Tell me something. Why do you care so much? I'm not *really* your sister. You didn't have to get this---mixed up in this mess I call my life. Why?"

"I told you I have two older sisters? Neither one of them is in Starfleet. They didn't have to fight family tradition because when I was born I became 'Owen Paris' son'---which meant that he didn't need to hope they would carry on the family name. Anyway, by the time I left for the Academy, they were both out of the house, going to school or working on their careers. I loved them, but I didn't get to spend a lot of time with them. I had hoped that when we were a little older," Tom stopped as his voice almost broke. He cleared his throat again. "I was kind of looking forward to being 'Uncle Tommy', you know? But I may never get that chance in the Alpha Quadrant."

Her eyes were sad for him, and for herself. "You may never get that chance in the Delta Quadrant either, Tom."

He shook a finger at her. "Never underestimate my best friend, Harry Kim. You may be in for a surprise or two. Sis? Harry said he told you he loves you. And you didn't answer. How *do* you feel about him? It's not just---hormones for you, is it?" He studied her expression carefully as the question sank in and she mulled it over before replying.

"I feel---I guess I sort of feel like Oliver Twist," she mumbled wistfully.

Anyone else would have asked what she meant, but Tom had recommended that she read the book. He knew intuitively exactly what she referred to. "You're afraid to ask for more? Afraid of getting your hand slapped away?"

She nodded, her wide green eyes mirrored hope and apprehension. "I don't want to lose what we have. He may not want more. He may change his mind when he finds out about---" Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to still the trembling of her lips.

Tom placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can never win big, if you don't risk anything. Trust yourself. Trust Harry. You've become a major factor in his happiness. Don't let your fears keep you from reaching out to him." His throat was closing up on him. "And have the right answer ready when he asks you to marry him!"

"But I'm not---I'm not marriageable!" she blurted.

"That's not your decision to make," Paris contradicted. "If someone asks you to marry him, then you're marriageable. I know. Harry hasn't asked. Yet. That doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it. He moves slowly sometimes, but when he makes a commitment, he's in it to stay. I don't know if he told you how we met?"

She nodded.

He elaborated nevertheless, unsure of just how much Harry had told her. "I rescued him from a Ferengi con artist. He decided I was his friend without knowing anything about me. Did you know he chose to be my friend in the teeth of the disapproval of the senior officers of this ship? They told him to stay away from me. I told him the same thing. He told me no one chose his friends for him. He's a lot smarter, stronger, and tougher than most people give him credit for. It's that boyish exterior that makes people underrate him, I think."

"But why did you choose me?"

"It wasn't because of the family resemblance," he joked, then quickly sobered as she stared at him wistfully. She really needed to know. "Because you looked like you could use a friend. Or even an older brother. And I needed a sister. I didn't know it at the time. But I did. And you're it, you lucky girl! Bet you didn't know what you were getting into either, huh?"

"Tom," her voice was choked with tears. "Thank you. I still don't really understand why you picked me---"

"Are you under the impression this has been a one way deal?" he asked indignantly. "That I've helped you, but you haven't done anything for me?"

Her frown of puzzlement answered him in the affirmative.

"Malista! You have got to stop overlooking your sterling qualities! Don't laugh. I'm being serious. You saved my life!"

"That was sort of an accident." She shrugged. "I just grabbed you. *Anyone* would have done it. It was a reflex."

"A reflex that saved my life. And no, I don't believe that just *anyone* would have made the effort. You could have used both hands and both legs to save yourself from being blown out the hull breach. No one would have blamed you or even known the difference." He waved an impatient hand to still her argument. "Never mind. Do you remember how we started? B'Elanna had dumped me. Harry had abandoned me---I know, he didn't want to be caught in the middle between Torres and me, but the effect was the same. I *felt* abandoned. Then I saw you sitting all alone in Sandrine's. You looked so---abandoned yourself."

"I felt that way too," she said, sharing a sympathetic smile with him.

"I thought, 'Well, Tom, here's something to keep you busy. A redemption project.' So I approached you. Partly it was the challenge. To see if I could get you to talk to me when you wouldn't talk to anyone else."

"A redemption project? Oh, Tom, you didn't?!"

"I told you. I didn't know I was looking for anything more than something to pass the time. A hobby of sorts. I certainly wasn't looking for someone who would sneak her way past my defenses and get me emotionally involved. Where was I? Then when I really needed to talk, you were there for me. More than once. The first time we came here to Lake Como. And what made it even better, everything I told you didn't come back in some distorted form from the rumor mill."

"One thing I *can* do well is keep quiet," Malista commented wryly.

"Oh, yeah!" Tom agreed with a grin. "Sometimes too quiet. Like not reporting these people who've been harassing you?"

"Tom, I don't think I can do it. It's so embarrassing. I feel so st---dumb." She changed words hastily at his threatening frown. "I can see now that I shouldn't have tried to ignore it. I should have done something about it."

"Sis, I'm not going to make the decision for you, but I don't think you have a choice any more. The sexual harassment issue affects everyone aboard. There was almost a fight in Sandrine's last night. Gerron and Castelle are in the brig. The Doc was telling me about it before you came to Sickbay. I assume Castelle is one of them? You don't want others to suffer the same abuse you've put up with. The captain certainly isn't going to let you pretend this is going away. Not when it's beginning to affect ship's morale."

"And I have to go apologize to the captain." A shudder of dread ran through her at the thought. She knew it was ridiculous. She was at least a head taller than the older woman. Janeway wasn't going to hurt her. Then why did she feel so intimidated when those gray eyes fixed on her?

"Which reminds me, why did you get so upset about being offered a promotion?" Tom asked oh-so-casually.

"That was one of the things they kept saying. That I was after Harry or you or anyone who could get me a promotion." She frowned when he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.

"Damn! You were the one they were talking about! I heard some rumor about someone supposedly sleeping her way to the top, but I thought they meant Kes or B'Elanna because they said something about the senior staff. Malista, that story has been circulated in every ship, on every world since the dawn of time. People who know anything won't believe it. Could you believe that tactic would work with Kathryn 'Call Me Captain' Janeway in charge?"

She sent him a shame-faced smile. "No, I guess not. But other people might believe it. Oh, and I have to tell Harry everything before I talk to Tuvok. Do you think he'll forgive me? For not trusting him enough to tell him before?"

Paris gave her his patented wide-eyed 'Are you joking?' look. It had the effect of making her wish she hadn't asked. He didn't answer her question directly. "I'll tell you what, Sis. I'll go with you to see the captain. I'm one of her favorites, you know." He smirked. "*Her* personal reclamation project."

"Oh, you've heard that nickname, have you?" Malista began. She picked up her protective lenses and slid them up her nose as she smiled up at him then handed him his own.

He put them on then let them slide down his nose so he could peer over them at her. "You know I think I could learn to like these things."

The intruder alert sounded. Almost in the same moment, the bright light of the probe reappeared on the holodeck. Tom Paris and Malista Shadow didn't have time to react at all. They simply winked out of existence.

**************************

Ensign Kim and Commander Chakotay were just resuming their stations on the bridge when the klaxon began to sound. Kim and Ayala worked in tandem, scanning the Ops station for input. "The probe is back, Captain!" Harry announced.

Before Janeway could react, Ayala added. "It's gone. It just popped in then disappeared. It was within range of our sensors for less than 3.5 seconds."

"That's too fast for another complete scan. What did it do?" Chakotay commented.

"Harry," Janeway began.

Before she could finish the thought, Harry was running a lifesigns scan. "Captain," he said heavily. "There are six lifesigns unaccounted for. Six crewmen are missing from the ship." He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing as Ayala took over and checked for more detailed information.

Janeway didn't need to ask for the identities of the six. She knew. They all did.

***************************

Tom's mind wavered slowly from unconsciousness to awareness. As his eyes finally opened, he saw that he was lying face down and on top of his right arm. He couldn't feel it at all. It was pinned between his body and the surface of the----bed? The numbness told him he must have been in this position for some time. This was not good. This was a bad thing. This was a very bad thing.

With a groan in anticipation of pain, he allowed his body to flop backwards and cast his eyes up toward to see the ceiling of an unfamiliar room. There was a ceiling there, wasn't there? Didn't seem to be. Strange. He definitely wasn't outdoors.

He felt the circulation beginning to return and became aware of sharp stabs and prickles of pain in his arm. "Owwwwwwww." It didn't help the pain, but the sound of his own voice reassured him somehow.

He wasn't dreaming. Damn. This really, really didn't look good. His communicator was missing.

His neck and back felt stiff. How long had he been lying there? Long enough to stiffen up this much? He tried to focus and concentrate. Something was different. He lay there for a moment and tried to assess his surroundings and his own physical condition. No spots! That was it.

Even the Doc's jungle juice had only managed to make them fade, but hadn't gotten rid of them completely. For the first time in what seemed like forever, there were no colored spots dancing in front of his eyes. None at all. And his head didn't hurt. Much. Or at least not any more than the rest of his body. He felt as stiff and sore as if he'd been pummeled by an angry or excited Klingon. A feeling he was somewhat familiar with.

Malista? Where was she? The last thing he remembered---He couldn't remember. No, wait. Malista was with him? If she wasn't here, then maybe she was safely on the ship? Maybe. But if this was because he was one of The Six? So was she. Or was he the only one---?

He staggered to his feet, wincing yet waving his arm to speed the returning blood flow. He might need that arm. His whole body felt stiff, as if he'd stayed in one position for far too long. 'A hexagon shaped bed?' he mused. As he glanced around, he thought, 'Maybe some kind of decorating theme?'

The room was hexagon shaped. Each side of the room rose smoothly and seamlessly from the floor to a height of approximately fifteen feet, then seemed to end without closure. High above the level of the caramel-colored walls, there seemed to be an opaque brown dome. A domed building? But the walls didn't go as high as the dome. In fact the distance to the dome from the wall was about another fifteen feet. It didn't make sense, but then nothing about this made sense anyway so Paris decided not to worry about it.

He began a tour of inspection, not knowing what he might find, but having nothing better to do. Maybe he could find out something about this place. Thinking aloud, he muttered, "First figure out where you are. If you can't determine your location, try to understand what's going on. Order and simplification are the first steps towards the mastery of a subject---the actual enemy is the unknown. Thomas Mann."

"Sheesh, those trainers at the Academy do know what they're talking about. What a surprise!"

"Don't let the fear of the unknown scare you into inaction. Who said that one? Can't remember. Maybe it was my dad? Oh, that's good, Tom. How many more pithy proverbs can you recite? And why are you talking out loud to yourself? The Doc would love to make a note of that in my medical records. Add that to all the extensive notes on my performance at the Academy."

But in a way, his experience in the classes, simulations, and field exercises at Starfleet Academy worked to his benefit in situations like this. He automatically fell back on his training and used it to help him feel in control---or at least, not totally out of control. Managed fear, if not conquered fear.

His concern for Malista began to mount. If all The Six were indeed here, she was the only Maquis. The others all had Starfleet training. They were familiar with strategies for maintaining calm in facing a fear of the unknown. The Academy trained every recruit in the protocols of first contact situations. Malista had no such training or experience. She must be frightened out of her mind to find herself imprisoned by an unknown enemy. And alone.

He jumped, startled as a section of the wall he was standing nearest suddenly moved. Though he hadn't seen any indication of openings, a panel slid down revealing a window of sorts between his room and the next. He stepped closer and peered through the transparent covering.

The room was identical to this one. The only piece of furniture was a hexagon shaped bed approximately eight feet across in the center of the room. Sitting in the center of the bed, cross-legged and arms resting on bent knees was Megan Delaney. She wasn't in uniform. She must have been off duty. She was wearing loose slacks and a long sleeved blue tee-shirt. One sleeve was torn open as if ripped along the seam from her wrist to just above her swollen, empurpled elbow. She seemed to be meditating, her eyes closed.

He knew she meditated when she was stressed and being kidnapped without warning was enough to stress anyone. He knew he felt stressed.

Paris slapped at the window with his hand, trying to make a noise to get her attention. "Megan!" He thumped the wall with his fist.

No response. Evidently, she couldn't hear him. Soundproofed? And one way glass? Well, her presence did give credence to his theory that he wasn't the only one brought here. Were the others here as well? The other four that made up The Six? Including Malista?

He wondered why the panel had opened. Had he triggered it, by approaching the wall? He decided to test that idea and approached the next wall section. Again, a panel slid down. An identical room. This one was occupied by Janine Lamont. The petite blond was pacing in circles---or hexagons---around the bed. She seemed nervous, but alert. She was out of uniform as well, wearing a tank top and jogging shorts. She was shivering as her breath misted in the air before her. Her room must be significantly colder than his. Her arms were wrapped around her waist while her hands rubbed up and down trying to generate warmth. There was nothing he could do about it---for now.

Paris moved to the next wall. Though he didn't notice a triggering device, the panel obediently slid down to reveal yet another identical room, this one occupied by Ethan Simms. The young ensign was seated on the bed, his left leg was turned at a peculiar angle, as if his leg was broken or damaged in some manner. His auburn curls showed signs of having been finger-combed repeatedly in agitation. He was out of uniform as well, wearing well-worn sweats and a tee-shirt damp with perspiration. He must have been working out in the gym, perhaps with Janine, when snatched from the ship. The young man's glazed eyes scanned right past Paris' position without a hint of recognition or focus.

"Ethan!" Paris shouted, as he whammed a fist against the clear panel. The ensign had looked right at him, but apparently hadn't seen him at all. All of the rooms had to be sound-proofed, the glass one-way. Why? What was going on? How had Simms been injured? A mounting sense of dread began to tickle its way up his spine, raising the soft golden hairs on the back of his neck. So far all the others seemed to be hurt in some way. Everyone but him. He felt stiff and sore, but had no obvious injuries. The lieutenant moved restlessly to the next section. He still hadn't located Malista.

The next panel slid away to reveal Sven Haldersen seated on the floor, leaning back against the bed. He was naked from the waist up and his boots were missing. His uniform trousers had been precisely sliced away just above his knees and his feet were a deep shade of blue---from his ankles to the soles of his feet. There was a line of demarcation that seemed to indicate the coloring had been placed there deliberately.

Tom stared, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. Haldersen didn't appear to be injured, but he wasn't moving. Sweat was pouring from his body in rivulets. While Janine's room was colder than normal, it appeared that Sven's was much warmer. From his point of view, Paris couldn't tell if the other man had other injuries or if he was even conscious.

Shaking his head, the lieutenant gave up and moved to the next section. Nothing. He stepped back and forward again. Waved his arms trying to find a trigger. Nothing. There was no panel there? Or had he done something differently this time?

He moved to the next section of the wall. A panel slid down. He moved in as close as possible. Finally. There she was. Malista was lying on her side on the bed. She was facing him, eyes closed. Unconscious? Asleep?

But unlike the other rooms, there was someone else in there with her.

One of their captors? The figure advancing toward Malista had its back to Paris. It was at least eight feet tall and was enveloped in some kind of shroud of dark brown material, like a hooded robe. What were they going to do to her? The pilot slammed his hand on the panel, hoping he could awaken Malista----warn her. He knew it was futile. But he had to try.

"Malista!" he shouted. He even tried thinking loudly, hoping somehow that telepathy would kick in, though he'd never been telepathic before. "Damn it! Get away from her!"

The figure stopped next to the bed. A slender, green, tentacle-like limb extended a four-fingered hand toward her.

The young woman suddenly exploded into a flurry of motion. Her uppermost leg snapped out to kick and her booted foot sent the alien lurching backwards, nearly toppling it to the floor. Shadow did a rolling back flip off the bed, landing on her feet beside it on the opposite side from the alien. She moved to keep the bed between them as the hooded figure stumbled forward once more.

Another hooded figure appeared behind her. Tom held his breath, willing her to turn around, to notice. She did, but it was too late. The second alien had wrapped a tentacle around her waist and was lifting her from the floor. It was his mistake that he didn't pin her arms or legs. She was struggling wildly---kicking, wriggling, hitting fiercely, gouging with her fingertips and nails. The alien's grasp on her faltered under the ferocity of her attack.

She abruptly dipped her head and bit the tentacle that was holding her! The alien lost its grip and she squirmed free, slithering bonelessly out of its hold. She dodged around him and managed to get her back to the wall opposite Tom's position.

She was cornered. The aliens on either side of her were moving towards her now. Her hand flashed down as she raised her right knee. She pulled a knife out of her boot!

A big wicked-looking knife with an eight inch blade. The aliens hesitated. They must have recognized it as a weapon.

Paris choked on his indrawn breath. "Damn! Where did that come from?" She was holding it as if she knew how to use it. He thought they'd taken that knife away from her after her suicide attempt. Evidently she'd gotten it back. But what was she doing with it in her boot? Did she carry it all the time? Now that was a scary thought for several reasons. More importantly, would she have the nerve to use it to defend herself?

That question was answered immediately. The aliens halted their advance toward her and turned toward each other. From their attitude, they seemed to be conferring. Malista never took her eyes off them. Her features were contorted into a mask of resolute fury, almost as if she was daring them to get near her again.

The aliens backed away from her and stepped apart, going to either side of the room, leaving her a clear pathway between them. They started toward her in a pincer movement, forcing her to move away from the wall to get away from them. Shadow watched them suspiciously, as did Paris. She moved to the center of the room and jumped up onto the hexagon-shaped bed, ready to move in any direction.

The aliens kept coming, as if shepherding her in the direction they wanted her to go. Which seemed to be toward Paris' cell.

The lieutenant heard a faint noise. The wall to his left, the one that hadn't had a viewing section, abruptly slid away, forming a portal between the two rooms. The aliens stopped moving. They seemed to be waiting for something.

Paris stepped to the doorway. "Malista!"

One tentacle came up slowly and gestured in the direction of Tom's position. They were telling her to join Tom? Now that was an order she could live with. Keeping a cautious eye on the aliens, she bounced off the bed and sprinted to the doorway.

Before Paris could do more than blink, Shadow was across the room and had thrown her arms around him, her weight driving him back a step into the room. The door panel slid shut behind them. "Tom! Are you all right?"

He fought back a wince as his sore muscles and stiff neck rebelled against being jostled by her embrace. He was devoutly grateful she had the presence of mind to keep the knife turned away from his body.

She tucked her head into the curve of his neck. The young man dropped his gaze to the top of her head. Her arms were wrapped around him, her head resting on his chest. His arms encircled her and squeezed gently. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"I'm much better now that I know you're all right. Oh, Tom!" She exhaled on a shaky sigh as she squeezed him a little more tightly.

"Yeah, Sis, but if you break my ribs, B'Elanna's going to be really ticked at you!" he murmured, easing her away to arm's length so he could examine her. "She thinks they're *her* special target."

"Are we the only ones? Or---" She lifted her knee and slid the knife back into its sheath in her boot.

Tom's eyes followed her actions and he made a mental note to ask her about that later. She was carrying a knife? He hadn't expected that. Damn. He'd told the EMH that she wasn't dangerous. She must have been more frightened of her harassers than she had led him to believe.

Tom shook his head in answer to her question. He stepped back, took her hand and turned them towards the other window panels. There were only smooth walls facing him on all sides once more. "Malista, I swear, there were windows here a minute ago. All six of us are here. I saw the others and they may have been injured. Are you sure you're all right?"

She held up her left hand for his inspection. "Someone gave me an unscheduled manicure." The fingernail on her left index finger had been chopped off, almost to the tip of her finger. There was a hint of bleeding around the rough edges.

"Your hair is falling down, Sis," Tom noted. Her bun of steel looked more like a disintegrating ponytail now. "And you're missing a big old swack of hair here, girl." He lifted a thick tress of the soft black curls in his hand.

"A swack of hair?" she repeated scornfully, as she lifted her hand to check it out. "It's called a lock of hair, Tom. Or a tress. Not a 'swack'."

About three inches was missing from the length of one section of her now unruly mane. She pulled the pins and ties from her hair, and finger-combed it as well as she could, trying to restore some semblance of order. She settled for trapping the long strands in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck and pinned the short strands out of her eyes.

"Details, details. Why would someone want a fingernail and a swack---oh, all right!" He corrected himself as she gave him 'a look'. "A lock of hair?"

She shrugged. She couldn't think of a good answer for that one. "Souvenirs?"

If only The Six were taken, then Tom Paris was the senior officer present. Though he hadn't thought about it consciously, he'd already begun to take charge of the situation. He was responsible for his fellow crewmen and he wanted to check on 'his' people. Frustrated by his lack of information, Tom turned and strode toward the wall, hoping to trigger the panel once more. He stopped in his tracks at Shadow's horrified gasp.

"Tom!"

He spun on his heel, looking for a threat to her. "What?"

She was staring wide-eyed at him. "Come sit on the bed," she directed.

"Why?"

"Just do it." She'd never been so bossy with him before. Something was wrong. And it had to do with him. He was sure he wasn't going to like this, but he obediently sat on the edge of the bed. She knelt next to him and slightly behind him. He felt her hands tugging at his collar, brushing his blond curls aside. He'd been meaning to get a haircut, but....

"Tom," she said in carefully measure tones. "You have a circular bruise on the back of your neck. Just at the base of your skull. It's a bright purplish blue and about an inch in diameter."

"Can you tell what caused it?" He kept his own voice level with difficulty. He wished they had a mirror. He wanted to see for himself. It unnerved him to know that someone had been tampering with his body while he was unconscious. He should have suspected something of the sort when he'd seen the condition of his fellow prisoners.

Her hand closed on his shoulder, simultaneously offering and seeking comfort. "If I had to guess, I would say someone took a sample. Possibly of spinal fluid?"

"No wonder my neck is stiff," he commented, cautiously turning his head from side to side.

"Tom, I want you to take your shirt off. I want to make sure this is all there is to find. You weren't aware of this?"

"No," he muttered. "I didn't notice anything. I thought I was fine. Just sore from being in one position too long while I was unconscious." He tugged at the hem of his black tee-shirt, groaning as his aches and pains protested the movement.

She helped him as much as she could, then checked his smoothly muscled back. "Tom, there are a series of---puncture marks up and down your spine and several bruises on your back."

"So someone used me as a dart board while I was out? Can you tell if they were taking things out or putting things in?" Unsurprisingly, his attempt at humor fell flat.

"No. But I don't like this," Malista said grimly. "You'll catch a chill. Here, put your shirt back on." She handed it to him and suddenly giggled.

He stared at her in disbelief as he took the shirt from her hand. "What? What's so funny?"

She ran teasing fingertips over the red gold curls that covered his muscled chest.

He captured her hand, then released it as he pushed it away, admonishing, "That tickles."

"I know it's silly, but it just popped into my head---" She giggled again as she helped him pull the shirt on so he wouldn't have to stress his sore muscles.

"What?" he asked patiently. He braced himself for an awful pun. Malista was almost as bad as he was about cracking jokes when she was uncomfortable.

"It just seems ironic that you're so---hairy. And Harry---isn't." Her voice spluttered with girlish giggles.

"You little brat! I don't *believe* you. Bad jokes at a time like this?" He rolled his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck slightly and groaned.

She grew serious immediately. "I'm sorry, Tom. Are you in pain? I wish I had a medkit," she remarked contritely.

"There's no point in worrying. We can't worry about things we can't control," he said. "What I want to know is: what was done to the others? Wait! Let me see your neck!"

She plopped down next to him on the bed and obligingly turned. He lifted her hair aside and peeked down the back of the collar of her uniform.

"Nothing," he said on a relieved sigh. "I guess you were the swack of hair and fingernail samples and I was the spinal sample. Samples? This reminds me of something. I can't think of---"

"Tom, to tell you the truth, I'm scared." She seemed slightly ashamed of the admission.

"You didn't look too scared when you pulled that knife!" he replied with a proud grin. "I thought B'Ella said you wouldn't fight."

She held up her hands, palms upward. "This isn't a simulation. I woke up and didn't know where I was or who they were. I pretended to be asleep for a while, hoping they'd leave me alone. I didn't know what had happened to you or if I was the only one here or not. But I couldn't just lie there when they started coming at me. I didn't know what they were going to do to me. Besides, George Natwick told me I needed to use my fear to give me strength. He said I had to turn the fear into anger and use it."

Paris tilted his head to one side consideringly. "Natwick just may not be as big a nitwit as I thought."

"He is not a nitwit. He's a very nice person, once you get to know him. He sort of reminds me of my brother Demetrios. Anyway, when I woke up there, in that cell or whatever, I was so afraid that I had to do something or go crazy. Then I remembered what George had said and began to deliberately make myself mad."

"How did you do that?" Amusement shone through Tom's curious expression, but she didn't mind. She knew it sounded strange.

"While I was lying there, pretending to be unconscious, I started listing all the reasons I was angry with whoever had done this."

"For example?"

"For example, how dare they kidnap us off our own ship? We didn't do anything to them."

"You got that right!" Paris agreed, starting to feel a tingle of irritation himself at the thought.

"And how it's all their fault that Harry is going to worry. About you. About me. About us. He's going to be so upset. And no one is allowed to upset Harry! Not if I have anything to say about it!" Her indignant tone struck Tom as being funny.

Maybe he was more exhausted than he thought. He was getting loopy. He started to grin again. "That's right. You're the only one allowed to upset Harry. You're cute when you're mad, Sis." He chucked her chin with his index finger.

"I'm not cute. Overgrown women are not cute," she muttered grumpily, pulling her face away from his hand.

"Knock it off!" he growled irritably, gently grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes.

"What?" She pulled away from him again, not meeting his eyes. She recognized that tone of voice. She'd heard it from him before.

"Stop making fun of yourself. You are NOT overgrown." He paused. "It's a matter of point of view. You and I are the right height. Everyone else is undergrown."

"I can't *wait* to hear you tell B'Elanna that *she's* undergrown. Can I sell tickets?" Shadow commented dryly, touched nonetheless by his defense of her---even if he was defending her from herself.

"B'Elanna is wonderful just the way she is. Practically perfect in every way," Tom hastened to say. "And you can tell her I said so. I just mean you shouldn't say demeaning things about yourself---and don't excuse it by saying you were only joking!"

"You're right," Malista admitted. "It bothers Harry when I say negative things about me too. I guess it's a habit. I'll try to watch it. Tom?"

"What?"

"Do you think Harry will be worried? Really?" It was a small plea for reassurance.

The lieutenant nodded decidedly. "Of course. I only hope you'll love him when he's bald. He's probably tearing his hair out as we speak. He wants you back in one piece. You concentrate on that idea. It's your *duty* to get back to Harry. He loves you and wants you and needs you---and these aliens have no right to make you or Harry unhappy. Get mad about that, will you?! I happen to know Harry had a special date planned for this evening. Don't tell him I told you! He's going to be really ticked at these aliens for spoiling his plans!"

A tentative smile tugged at her lips, then disappeared. "What are we going to do now?"

"Well, according to my training at the Academy, we assess our situation, gather intelligence, search for a means of escape, and wait for the opportunity to act." He took her hand in his and squeezed it.

"And if there is no opportunity?" she asked.

"Then we make one," he replied matter-of-factly. He was sure that he would find a chance. He was counting on it. He refused to even consider the possibility of a negative outcome.

She was convinced. They settled down to wait, holding hands, each lost in thought.

A bright light suddenly popped into existence in front of them. When the brightness faded, the hexagon shaped bed disappeared. Unprepared to have their seating yanked from under them, the two of them landed on the floor with thumps and groans of surprise. They looked around. The bed hadn't disappeared. They had. They were in another room.

*************************


	5. Chapter 5

*************************

"Anything?" Captain Janeway asked.

Tuvok glanced up. "We have not been able to trace the signal back to its source."

"We just barely got the sensors to recognize its existence," Harry Kim added, a hint of his impatience and anxiety making itself heard. "Enough to trigger the intruder alert, but we didn't have time to lock on and get a directional fix."

Janeway and Chakotay exchanged glances. It had been four hours since the crewmembers known as The Six had simultaneously vanished from their various locations around the ship. Their commbadges and the equipment they had been wearing or holding had been left behind so, wherever they were, The Six were unarmed and unequipped for an away mission. The only equipment that was known to have transported with them were the protective spectacles that they'd all picked up from Sickbay that morning.

Harry Kim had been running diagnostics, tests, and simulations almost continually, aided and abetted in his endeavors by the Chief Engineer who was now fidgeting at his elbow.

"Harry, it's time for you to take a break," the first officer said. "You and B'Elanna go get something to eat and try to take your mind off the problem. That may help you to think of something we're missing."

Kim began to protest but subsided at the 'do I have to make it an order?' look from the captain.

Torres acquiesced with a nod and looped her arm through his, towing him toward the turbolift with more force than was strictly necessary to overcome his reluctance. "Come on, Starfleet. You can work on that search you've been doing for the perfect love poem to recite to Malista."

Harry flinched away from her in surprise. He didn't think she, or anyone else, knew about that. Since he'd found out how fond Malista was of poetry, he'd been trying to find a poem somewhere in the database that would express how he felt about her in a way she would find memorable and flattering.

Just as they reached the turbolift, the lift doors opened, Jenny Delaney strode onto the bridge. "Captain, I need to talk to you. I think Megan is hurt."

Kim and Torres spun on their heels and, without waiting for permission, followed the redhead back towards the captain's seat.

*************************

Paris blinked at the sudden change in environment, startled to find himself dropping three feet from a sitting position to the floor without warning. The jarring impact rattled every sore muscle and bone in his body, causing him to clench his jaw to keep from shouting at the sudden pain. His second reaction was to feel pleased that, this time at least, the aliens hadn't separated him from Shadow when they were transported. He was still holding her hand when they stopped moving.

The sounds of muffled curses, thumps, and heartfelt moans behind them signaled the arrival of the other four Voyager crewmen in a similar fashion. With a groan, Paris clambered to his feet then pulled Malista upright.

"Are you all right?" they asked each other in unison. "I'm fine," they chorused.

Reluctant smiles appeared.

"We're beginning to sound like the Delaney twins," Shadow commented.

"It's a sibling thing," Paris explained as he turned to assess the condition of his involuntary away team, relieved that he finally had an achievable goal to work toward.

Without waiting for instructions, Malista immediately put her first aid training and natural protective instincts to use. She went towards the other women first, leaving the men to Paris. A quick assessing look showed that Lamont was shivering with cold and that seemed to be the extent of her problem. Malista quickly stripped off her jacket and draped it around the smaller woman's shoulders. The blond clutched it thankfully and worked at warming herself, blowing on her hands to try to return the circulation to her nearly frozen fingers.

Shadow turned toward Delaney next, concerned with the apparent damage and bruising of her right elbow. Megan shook her head. "It's sore, but I'll live. Take care of the others first."

Haldersen was on his feet---his bare blue feet. Though self-conscious about his unclothed state, he was seemingly uninjured and offered a supportive arm to the redhead, frowning uneasily as he took in the discoloration and swelling of her arm and its contrast with the pallor of her face. She leaned on him heavily as they followed Shadow to cluster around the only one of The Six who was not up and moving at the moment.

Malista dropped to her knees next to Ensign Simms, whose more severe injury had apparently incapacitated him. Paris was kneeling on the other side of the young man. Janine Lamont seated herself behind Simms, waiting for a signal from Paris that would tell her how she could help.

Ethan was lying curled on his side on the floor, obviously in agony. His left knee was cradled protectively in his hands. The drop when he'd been relocated to this room had aggravated the damage to his leg, sending shock waves of pain coursing through him. He'd managed not to scream aloud, but a steady litany of indistinguishable words and hisses of pain were escaping his compressed lips.

Paris was patiently waiting for Simms to recover a measure of his composure. At a nod from the pilot, Shadow placed one gentle hand on the ensign's shoulder and waited for him to acknowledge her. She didn't want to startle him. Startling Security Officers often had unfortunate side effects for both parties. "Ethan?" she said quietly.

His kelly green eyes were glazed as he gazed up at her, recognition dawning after a moment. "Malista?" He held his breath momentarily, exhaling shakily as he tried to relax taut muscles and screaming nerve ends. He accepted the gentle guidance of her hands and allowed her to turn him onto his back.

"Yes. Tom and I want to check your knee. Do you know what happened?" She kept talking, trying to distract him. She handed Tom the knife from her boot. He slit the leg of the ensign's sweatpants from his ankle to halfway up his thigh, then handed the knife back to Malista who sheathed it.

The young man's eyelids drooped wearily. "I'd hoped I was the only one. Is Janine---"

Before he could finish the thought, Lamont scooted up behind him within range of his vision. Carefully lifting his head, she pillowed it on her lap. "Right here, darling. Just lie still and let us see what we can do about your leg." She placed one chilly hand on his overly warm forehead and the other on his cheek.

He sighed, nestling into her palms as if the coolness brought some relief. He placed his left hand over hers to keep it in place. Janine exchanged a worried look with Malista. He was feverish. A high fever? Due to his injury? Or was there something else wrong with him?

Tom examined the swollen, purple joint, trying not to induce more injury or pain with his inspection. He scowled. "I think your knee is dislocated. Do you know how it happened, Ethe?"

"No," the young man hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to reassert some control over his voice and expression. He could feel his face flush even hotter with embarrassment at being the center of attention. "It was like this when I woke up in that room."

A frown traced its way briefly across the lieutenant's forehead. "I think the swelling and pain are only going to get worse---unless I put the joint back in place." He met the younger man's eyes squarely. "I'll be honest with you, Ethan. I've got a field medic's training. I've studied what to do, but I've never actually done this before."

Green eyes met blue. Ethan knew beyond a doubt that Paris would do his best. And he really didn't have a lot of options. "Do it, Lieutenant."

Tom drew in a shaky breath, moved by the trust the Security Officer placed in him. "Okay. We don't have any anesthetics. No medkit. I'll try to get it done as quickly and painlessly as possible, but to tell you the truth---this is going to hurt like hell, Ethe. But when it's done, it should help relieve the swelling and lessen the pain until we can get you back to Sickbay and the Doc's tender mercies and sparkling personality."

The auburn haired man nodded, his lips narrowing to a grim line as he bit down on his back teeth and braced himself.

Paris encompassed their companions in his gaze. "Janine, you hold his head. Sven, can you kneel next to her? Put an arm across his shoulders and hold down his other leg. If he moves around, it may make it harder to do it right the first time. Malista, give Ethan your knife. He can bite down on the handle. You hold his hands."

Shadow placed the hilt of the knife in Simms' mouth, smiling reassuringly at him as she took his hands in her own. "No, I'll hurt you," the ensign protested, noticing how slender and small her long fingers were compared to his own blunt digits.

She considered his words for an instant. "All right. Hold my wrists and I'll hold yours. Don't worry, Ethan. I'm stronger than I look. Just pretend we're hanging from a trapeze. If you let go, I'll fall." She grasped his wrists and nodded encouragingly as he reluctantly wrapped his hands around her forearms.

With Janine behind him, Ethan chose to focus on Malista's kind face to keep his mind off Paris and what he was going to do. He could almost feel a wave of warmth and compassion coming toward him from the light in her eyes.

"Ready?" Tom managed to keep the nervousness from showing in his voice. He was silently praying for the courage to do this and the wisdom and skill to do it right. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before Ethan could be treated in Voyager's Sickbay. They couldn't afford to mess this up. It would cost Simms too much in terms of suffering.

Receiving nods from all his assistants, Paris placed his hands firmly on the ensign's leg. "On the count of three. One. Two. Three." With a yank and a twist, the joint popped back into place with an audible crackle that made those who heard it wince in commiseration.

Ethan's body spasmed and he screamed at the brief jolt of agony, the sound muffled by the knife hilt clenched between his teeth. Mercifully, he passed out.

Janine whimpered sympathetically and stroked his face caressingly. Megan patted her shoulder. "He'll be all right. He's a strong man. You made a good choice," Delaney said, a hint of envy peeking through her words.

Tom, who was almost as pale as Simms at this point, took the opportunity to check the knee again. He nodded, sighing his relief as his twanging nerves eased their hold on his own breathing. "It worked. It's back in place." He smiled over the young man's head at Janine Lamont. Tears were streaming from her grateful eyes as she smiled weakly in return. She leaned over and kissed Ethan's forehead.

Shadow smiled at Paris and lightly pushed his shoulder in sisterly affection. "Too bad Tuvok isn't here. He could have given Ethan a Vulcan neck pinch to put him out." She glanced up. "Megan, let Tom check your elbow. You may have the same type of problem as Ethan."

Delaney obediently moved toward Paris who got to his feet. He took her wrist gently and pushed the ripped sleeve of her shirt away from the swollen elbow. "How the hell did this happen?"

Sven Haldersen cleared his throat. "I believe our captors might have been testing the range of the joints. Possibly studying how they work."

"What?" Janine asked, numbly. "Why would they do that?"

"You always study the anatomy of the----animals you capture for study," Haldersen, the biologist, said reluctantly. "It's standard procedure."

************************

The meeting had been relocated to the briefing room. "All right, Lieutenant Delaney. Let's hear it. What do you mean Megan is hurt? How do you know?" Captain Janeway inquired.

"It's not something we talk about much. People tend to think it's---spooky," the redhead replied. "And there are enough speculative rumors about us and our love lives. We don't need to make it worse. Megan and I are identical twins. We're connected."

"Are you referring to telepathy in some form?" Tuvok asked.

Jenny considered that. "No, nothing that clear cut. It's more like empathy. It only really kicks in when one of us is injured or in danger. When we were stationed on different ships during our Academy apprenticeships, I was hurt in a training accident. Megan knew it right away. I was incapacitated for two weeks. So was Megan. We figured out that at the moment I was hurt, Megan collapsed. The doctors attributed it to psychic trauma. Somehow we shared the injury. It's one reason there was no protest about keeping us assigned to the same ship. It was added on a confidential basis to our personal medical histories."

Kathryn Janeway was fascinated by the idea, her scientific curiosity aroused, but didn't allow herself to be sidetracked. Not now. "Jenny, how much can you tell us about Megan's situation right now? Can you tell us anything about the others?"

Jenny shook her head, frustration etched across her delicate features as she tossed her red hair over her shoulder. "For the first couple of hours, I wasn't getting anything. I would guess that she wasn't awake. A little while ago, I started getting---twinges." She cradled her right elbow in her left palm. "I think her arm is hurt. Her elbow. I can't tell anything about anyone else. But I do know, she's nervous, but she's not seriously afraid."

"And you think that means what exactly?" Chakotay asked.

"I think if she were alone, she would be much more anxious," Jenny added. "I think she's scared, but she has it under control."

"Maybe all six of them are together?" Janeway speculated. "Why take them? Is it because we failed to correctly understand and interpret the message they were sending? Does anyone have an idea where to look for them?"

"We've scanned all the planets in this system three times without finding any life signs," Kim reminded them all unnecessarily. "And we haven't detected any traces of a power signature that would indicate a ship nearby."

"Perhaps the aliens are shielded from our sensors," Tuvok said.

Janeway was frowning thoughtfully, trying to remember something that had been teasing at her mind since the morning briefing. "B'Elanna, Tom mentioned something about having strange dreams. Did he tell you anything about them? Perhaps part of the message did get through, though he may not have recognized it."

B'Elanna was keeping her emotions reined in, but her patience was eroding rapidly. "He mentioned at breakfast that he was dreaming about the spots dancing in front of his eyes. He kept kidding around about it. He talked about naming them, silly stuff like that. Strange shapes, weird colors. That's all I can remember." She abruptly slammed her fist on the table, her frustration demanding a physical release. She sat and glowered at her knuckles as if they offended her by not making more of an impact.

Harry covered her fist with his hand and squeezed. "Captain, Malista was talking in her sleep last night..." He blushed at the sudden startled looks directed his way. "She fell asleep while we were talking," he explained hastily.

"Go on, Harry," Janeway said with an admonitory glance at the others who quickly took their eyes off the embarrassed ensign. "What did she say?"

"She muttered the word 'dome'. Or 'home'? No, I'm sure it was 'dome'," Kim nodded decisively. "What if the aliens are shielded from our sensors by some kind of dome? Like a domed city?"

"Why would they live under a dome?" Chakotay asked. "Which planet has the kind of atmospheric conditions that would make a dome necessary?"

Tuvok raised one eyebrow. "The answer to that question would, of necessity, be speculative in nature since we have no description of the nature of the inhabitants."

The First Officer frowned impatiently at the Vulcan. "Let's assume for the moment that part of the message they intended to send was their location. That would be a reasonable, *logical* assumption. If they did use the word 'dome' or the image of a domed city was somehow conveyed to Malista, which planet would be the most likely place to begin our search?"

Tuvok sighed. Janeway got the feeling he was humoring them as he replied, "Given those parameters, unsubstantiated as they are, the fourth planet would seem to be the most logical location. Our sensors detected seismic disturbances which lead to quakes and eruptions that frequently pollute the atmosphere."

"Thank you, Tuvok!" Kim said enthusiastically, jumping to his feet, prepared to return to Ops to continue the search. The captain's raised eyebrows halted him.

"I haven't given the order yet, Mr. Kim," she reprimanded mildly. "Though I appreciate your fervor. Dismissed." They all got to their feet and started moving towards the exit.

With a loud gasp, Jenny Delaney grabbed her elbow and screamed. "Megan!" She fainted and sprawled across the table before anyone could reach her.

Commander Chakotay slapped his commbadge. "Transporter Room 2. Emergency transport. Lock on Lt. Jenny Delaney and transport her to Sickbay."

************************

"Well, at least we're moving up in the world," Paris commented sarcastically. "This room is about four times larger than the ones we occupied before."

After the immediate need to treat the injured had been dealt with, Paris and Haldersen had explored the limits of their new cage and returned to join the others. The larger room they had been transported into seemed to be a common area. It was mostly empty space with a hard metallic floor, but there were a couple of benches along one wall to form a sitting area. Two other walls were long, blank expanses, while the fourth wall of the room contained open, doorless entries to three smaller rooms that contained hexagon-shaped beds. All their poking, prodding, inspecting, and wall thumping had failed to uncover any kind of door mechanism that they could use to provide a means of escape.

The Six were still sitting, lying, or standing in the center of the common room, lacking the will, energy, or motivation to move. They found they were reluctant to get too far from each other. 'Better to hang together than to hang separately,' Paris thought, trying to think of any possible course of action.

Helplessness didn't sit well with the lieutenant. He kept one eye on Malista while he was thinking. Though outwardly calm, he could tell she was almost vibrating with nervous energy. Sitting idle and waiting for their captors to take action was making her anxious.

Ethan Simms opened groggy eyes, blinked at what he saw directly in his line of sight, and moaned, "Am I seeing things or does someone have blue feet?"

Sven Haldersen stepped back to give Ethan a better, less close-up look at him. "That would be me. Yes. My feet are blue. And my boots are missing. They probably took some kind of casts to study the bone structure and the casting material left some residual color."

Janine Lamont helped Simms struggle to a sitting position, encouraging him to continue leaning on her as a back rest.

"I don't think we have one complete uniform among the six of us," Paris commented ruefully and shook his head. He plucked at his black tee-shirt as he surveyed the others.

Simms was wearing a sweatshirt, his sweatpants slit to accommodate the bandages on his still swollen knee. Haldersen was wearing what was left of his uniform trousers and was shirtless and shoeless. Delaney was in thin slacks and a torn and tattered tee-shirt, the long sleeve split to above her swollen elbow. Lamont, who was wearing skimpy jogging shorts and a tank top, had finally warmed up thanks to the gift of Malista's jacket which was much too long on her. It practically formed a mini-dress on the much shorter woman and the sleeves had been rolled up four times to allow her to use her hands.

Paris shook his head again as he studied his involuntary 'away team'. "We're all out of uniform. And Malista, the only one who WAS in uniform is reduced to her tank top and raggedy shorts. Good thing Chakotay isn't here. We'd all be on report." Paris almost smiled as he continued, "What a motley crew!"

Shadow's uniform had fallen victim to the needs of the others. She'd used her knife to slice the legs off her trousers just above the knees in order to form bandages to support Ethan's knee and to make bandages and a sling for Megan's arm. Her turtleneck had gone for the same purpose, forming padding to cushion the neck strap of the sling.

"What's motley?" Megan asked, wincing as Malista helped her slip her injured arm into the sling.

"An incongruous mixture," Shadow replied absent-mindedly as she finished tying off the sling's ends into a knot at the base of the other woman's neck.

"What's incongruous?"

"Lacking in harmony. Not in agreement---oh, you!" Malista frowned, her eyes narrowing at her friend suspiciously as she caught the twinkle in the blue eyes. She realized her friend was trying to distract her from the worried thoughts chasing around in her head. "Stop playing dumb with me. You're not my type anyway."

Delaney grinned in acknowledgment of the hit. As taught by the Delaney twins, Shadow's flirting lessons had included the oldest one in the book---playing dumb. It might be an old, even ancient technique, but it still worked in the short term---at least with some men.

"Well, I have to agree with Tom on this one," Lamont said. "We do look odd."

Shadow moved restlessly. Now that there were no needs to be met, nothing to be accomplished, the young woman began to tense. The lack of activity was quickly beginning to wear on her nerves. Unthinkingly, she began to move around the room, not going too far from the group, but distancing herself slightly. Pacing wasn't enough. She needed something more strenuous. She began to do some of the stretching exercises she usually utilized before a work-out. They always relaxed her mentally as well as physically.

After a few preliminary moves, she stretched her hands high above her head as if reaching for the dome high above them, then slowly bent at the waist until her palms rested flat on the floor in front of her. One leg at a time, she brought her feet up until they were straight above her as she held a handstand. After a moment, she completed the movement by gradually bringing her feet down past her head, forming her back into a U-shape before uncurling into a vertical position and stretching once more.

"Very nice, Sis," Tom Paris remarked. He was amused to see the mutual blushing going on when Malista became aware of Sven's admiring gaze and when Sven realized he'd been caught staring his appreciation of her lithe figure. Shadow quickly came to hover next to Paris, using him as a shield between herself and the eyes of the others.

"I was never that limber in my life," Janine commented enviously.

"Oh, I don't know," Simms began with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"Ethan!" Janine's scandalized exclamation brought a halt to whatever the young man had planned to say.

He gave her a penitent look, widening his green eyes. "What?" He could tell she was frightened, not only for herself, but for him. Diverting her attention also took his mind off his own problem.

She shook a finger at him threateningly. "Watch it!"

He caught her hand and kissed it. "I'd rather watch you."

"Does anyone know how long we've been here?" Megan Delaney asked.

Sven Haldersen's stomach suddenly growled---loudly. There was a general chorus of snickers or chuckles. The big Swede had the reputation for having an appetite that was as predictable as a heartbeat. It was said that Neelix could set the messhall chronometer by the rumblings of Sven's stomach. He needed to be fed promptly or there were dire consequences for those who had to deal with him.

"I didn't have breakfast," Haldersen said sheepishly. "I think it's been at least four hours. I'm overdue for some food."

"You could use some water," Janine whispered to Simms. He still felt hot to her touch as she stroked his face. He murmured quiet reassurances for her ears alone.

Tom looked down at Malista who was trying once more to become invisible by standing half behind and half beside him. Her arms were wrapped around herself as if she was self-conscious about the scantiness of what was left of her uniform. "What are you doing, Sis?"

She refused to meet his eyes, just shrugged and stepped a little further behind him. He turned and faced her, one hand fondly grasping her shoulder. "What?" he asked. She shook her head as she bit her lip. "Is this because we were looking at you when you were stretching?"

She shrugged again, with pretended indifference.

"Or because of the way we were looking at you?" he probed. She shrugged again and started to move away from him, though there was really no place to go. "Or more especially, the way Sven was looking at you?" he added sharply, suddenly suspicious.

A red tide of color again swept up her neck and into her cheeks. Unwillingly, she nodded. She was unprepared for Tom's reaction.

In less than a moment, Tom's usual fluid grace disappeared, his body tautening like a bowstring. His blue eyes, without warning, became opaque, a cold cadet blue, as he shot a glare of resolute menace in Haldersen's direction. "Is he one of the men who---" His usual pleasant tenor was almost a snarl.

"Tom, no!" Malista put a restraining hand on his rigid forearm.

The amiable Haldersen, catching the baleful glower on the lieutenant's face, reflexively took a step back. He'd never thought of the pilot as intimidating before but, at this moment, Paris' expression made it clear that he could be a dangerous enemy. The unexpectedness of the transition just made it all the more threatening.

Sven didn't know what he'd done to make the taller man angry, but whatever it was---he flashed a glance at Malista. He'd known that Paris was protective of Shadow, but this seemed like a more intense reaction than his own behavior warranted. It was just a look, after all. He hoped she could convince her 'brother' that no offense had been intended when he'd stared at her. Though a large man and trained in self-defense, Sven was a scientist, not a fighter.

Shadow shook his arm until Paris took his eyes off the other man and met her own. "Tom, Sven is *not* one of them. Stop it." As a precaution, she reversed their positions, quickly moving between Paris and Haldersen and blocking him with her body from moving toward the other man. Angry or not, Malista couldn't make herself believe that Tom Paris would ever hurt her.

The lieutenant took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the fury drain out of him like a slow air leak in a pressure suit. He absentmindedly sent an apologetic smile towards Haldersen then focused on Shadow's face once more.

Shadow seemed to have calmed Paris down for now, but Haldersen planned to keep an eye on the lieutenant anyway. The Swede shrugged off his unease and engaged Megan Delaney in conversation, hoping to take her mind off her worry and the pain of her injured elbow. Megan was quite willing to resume the flirtation they had begun on the ship some weeks ago and cooperated enthusiastically.

"So Haldersen isn't involved?" Paris asked intently, trying to make sure she wasn't just pacifying him.

Malista watched, concerned, as the flush of rage ebbed from Paris' face, leaving him somewhat paler than normal. B'Elanna had tried to tell her how frightening and implacable Tom could look when he lost his temper---and Malista hadn't quite believed her. She had thought Torres was exaggerating wildly. Now she knew it hadn't been B'Elanna's imagination. And his ferocity was all the more stunning because of the swiftness of its onset.

Shadow wanted nothing more at this moment than to mollify him. The abrupt change from easy-going charm to icy cold rage almost frightened her with its intensity. Even if that rage was on her behalf.

"No, Tom," she said in as soothing a tone as she could manage. She stroked his forearm rhythmically, having noticed that touch was important in reassuring the older man. "I promise you. Sven is a nice man. He's more interested in Megan and Jenny than in me. In fact, I was just thinking that the way Sven was looking at me..."

"What about it?" His eyes were warm blue pools as he encouraged her to follow her line of thought. He could tell that she'd been alarmed by his outburst. He drew in a slow breath and tried to reassure her with a smile. In the aftermath of that abrupt surge of temper, his exhaustion was beginning to manifest itself in drooping eyelids.

"It was different. I mean he was looking---but he wasn't looking the way the others do. Sven was looking at me more the way Harry used to. You know, before he knew me very well. I mean, before Harry and I, uh..." She could feel herself pinkening and winced in anticipation of his next teasing remark.

He surprised her. "That's because it was a look of admiration, not lust. You *can* have one without the other. Of course, sometimes admiration leads to lust."

"So you're saying I shouldn't worry so much about people looking at me?"

He frowned at her impatiently. "From what you told me, those who have been harassing you have done more than look. Who are they, Sis?"

"Tom, it really doesn't matter right now," she protested.

"Is Ethan one of them?" he rapped out, shooting a glance toward the security officer.

"No!" The look she gave him spoke her incredulity at the question more plainly than words could have. "Why would you even ask?"

He lifted his palms upward. "Hey, if you won't tell me, I'll just keep guessing. And I already owe Sven an apology for suspecting him. Maybe you haven't been paying attention, but this kind of thing has been happening all over the ship, Sis. The kind of people who would treat you like this only flourish in the dark. They won't stop unless there are consequences for their actions. The Maquis have been trying to watch out for you, but since you wouldn't tell them WHO to watch out for, they began suspecting all the Starfleet men. And the 'Fleeters who don't know what's going on resent being treated with suspicion. I don't blame them. Even Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay have noticed that this whole situation is getting out of hand. You're going to have to make an official report to Security when we get back. Practice on me. Who are the two who have been making your life hell?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, then abruptly decided to surrender since he couldn't do anything---precipitous at the moment. "All right. If you just have to know right this minute, the two major troublemakers were Paul Castelle and Laro Longoria. There were a couple of others, but those two just kept it up long after the others stopped."

Paris drew in a deep, satisfied breath. "I should have guessed. At least about Longoria. He and Niko had a fight not long after the Maquis came aboard. Niko really kicked his---let him have it. They both wound up pulling extra duty time and losing their replicator privileges, but I heard that Longoria started it. And Dishon came out on top as far as the amount of damage inflicted. Longoria underestimated him because he was smaller. Niko had one wicked right!"

Malista's eyes widened in astonishment. "I didn't know anything about that."

"Yeah, well, Niko kept you pretty much out of the loop, didn't he?" Tom retorted with a disapproving frown. "Which made it harder for you to know who to trust."

Shadow nodded uneasily. "He didn't want me to worry. I knew Longoria didn't like him. Laro, uh, tried to talk to me when we first came aboard Voyager and Niko told him to leave me alone. But then I didn't hear anything else about it and Longoria never bothered me again so I didn't think about it. I never knew it had ever gone so far as---

I wish I had known."

"Well, we'll settle this once and for all when we get back to the ship. For now, I still owe Sven an apology, or at least an explanation." Tom took her arm and they rejoined the other four in the center of the room.

"Did you hear that?" Simms asked. "I thought I heard something. The floor seems to be vibrating. I think someone's coming."

One of the blank walls parted, forming an entranceway. Four of the towering aliens glided into the room and approached The Voyager Six. Simms struggled to get to his feet, not wanting to confront 'the enemy' while lying helplessly on the floor. Janine Lamont and Megan Delaney helped him up and supported him until he got his balance on his good leg. Malista Shadow stood behind Tom Paris and Sven Haldersen who'd placed themselves between the aliens and the other four.

"Everyone stay calm. No overt hostilities. Maybe we can establish communication," Tom said quietly. "Keep your hands at your sides. No threatening moves."

"Yeah, like we have anything to threaten them with," Delaney muttered sarcastically.

The four aliens stopped about ten feet in front of the group of humans who had instinctively arranged themselves in a loosely triangular formation with their weak and injured protected by the fittest among them.

The aliens seemed to be communicating with each other, though there was no sound at all, at least not within the range of human hearing. They were dressed in long, flowing brownish robes with hoods that hung over their faces---or where their faces would be if they could be seen. Minute sparkles of light in various colors could be seen flashing from beneath the hoods. Were the colors the alien version of speech?

One alien stepped forward, slowly raising its tentacle-like arms. It seemed to be trying to shoo the humans toward the three smaller rooms. The other three aliens followed. Two of them were carrying what looked like metal sticks.

'Weapons?' Tom thought. The sticks were approximately a meter in length with no visible controls, but they seemed menacing and familiar in some way.

"Let's play along for now," Lieutenant Paris ordered, drawing himself up to his full height. Being tall for a human, he'd never really felt as short as he did at this moment, looking up at the much taller abductors. Without disengaging his inspection of the aliens, he asked over his shoulder, "Ethan, can you walk?"

"Yes, sir," Simms replied. "No problem." He was exaggerating. There was definitely a problem but Lamont provided a shoulder for him to lean on as a crutch and Delaney slipped her good arm around his waist to help him balance as he hobbled along and The Six retreated before the alien advance. They stopped directly before the doorways to the smaller rooms.

"Now what?" Haldersen asked.

"It's their move," Paris replied calmly.

One of the aliens moved to the forefront and lifted a tentacle slowly toward Haldersen. The four-fingered hand slipped around the human's wrist and pulled him towards the smaller room on the left. Haldersen allowed himself to be guided to the door but didn't enter. He was released with a gesture that seemed to indicate he was to remain there. The same alien reversed course and extended a tentacle toward Janine Lamont.

Ethan Simms tried to push her behind him, but was easily brushed aside. As he toppled off balance, Megan Delaney caught him and took over as his living crutch, steadying him.

"Ethan, it's all right. I don't think they're going to hurt us," Janine said, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. The alien led her to stand next to Haldersen. When she was in place, the alien returned to the group and seemed to be conferring with the others.

"Telepathy?" Haldersen speculated. "Could that be how they're communicating? Or sound beyond our range of hearing?"

"What about the flashing lights?" Lamont responded. "It could be a signaling system. Do you think it's a natural phosphorescence? Or is it artificial?"

"It's nice that you guys are trying to analyze this, but I'd really rather just get out of here," Delaney mumbled plaintively.

"I'm with you there, but if we can understand how they communicate, maybe we can talk to them," Simms said. "Reason with them."

The alien came forward and latched onto Malista's wrist. She was drawn toward the group of aliens. From their behavior, she was the current object under discussion. An alien's slender finger brushed lightly over her hair. She stiffened in resistance, but fixed her eyes on Tom Paris and refused to give in to her fear and scream or try to fight them.

One of their other captors gestured toward Simms and Delaney, then toward Paris and finally toward Shadow. Another alien reached out and grasped Malista's other arm. It was beginning to look like a tug of war was going to ensue with Shadow as the rope.

Bracing herself, she cast a nervous glance towards the humans. "Tom? Do you have any idea what's going on?"

Before he could formulate a satisfactory answer, one of the aliens seemed to win the argument. He herded Malista over to stand next to Ethan Simms and pushed Megan Delaney aside. Another alien came forward and pulled at Janine Lamont, trying to move her toward Paris. They seemed to be moving the humans around like living game pieces.

"Sven, you have any theories about this?" the pilot asked. "You're the biologist. If this was your experiment, what would be the point here?"

Sven scowled his puzzlement for an instant, then his face cleared as he came up with a theory. "They're trying to pair us off. That's why the smaller rooms. I think Malista is giving them a problem. If color is of major significance in their culture, they may think our coloring has something to do with our gender or mating rituals."

"What?" Megan exclaimed. "Our coloring?"

Sven nodded. "Look how they matched us up. Megan and Ethan, the two redheads. Janine and I are both blondes. But so is Paris. Malista is the problem. She's the only brunette. I think now they're trying to figure out if eye color takes precedence over hair color. If so, then Malista would go with Ethan since they both have green eyes. The rest of us have blue eyes so they might want to pair us off by matching the shades of color of our eyes. In that case----"

"They're trying to pair us off for MATING purposes?" Megan exclaimed. "Do they plan to keep us here permanently? What is this? Some kind of a zoo?"

The humans exchanged looks of varying degrees of distress and dismay.

"How can we let them know we aren't going to cooperate?" Paris asked, a muscle beginning to jump in his clenched jaw. "What kind of social structure can we demonstrate that they would understand?"

Haldersen was at a loss for words. "I don't know. I'm just speculating. We don't know anything about this species. There are so many types---"

The silent argument among their captors came to an end. The aliens, ignoring the other five, began to move back towards the entrance. Dragging a reluctant but passive Shadow with them. Frantic green eyes sought for a cue from Tom Paris.

"They're not taking her," he muttered under his breath. He stepped forward, rushing to intercept them. "Hold it!" he shouted.

The aliens didn't react to the sound of his voice, but noticed his approach and stopped moving when he pushed between them to snatch Malista out of their grasp. Paris pushed Shadow behind him, using his body as a shield, putting himself between her and their captors. He urged her with hand gestures to move away, out of reach.

She lingered just behind him, hoping to intercede if the aliens moved against him. She didn't want to be the cause of another death, especially not Tom Paris'. She'd go with them if that was the only way to keep Tom safe.

Haldersen was not far behind Paris in reaching the aliens. Simms was half-limping, half-hopping to join the group. Delaney and Lamont hovered behind Simms, ready to catch him if he lost his balance. They were all ready to fight if need be. All the humans were waiting for a reaction to Tom's actions.

The aliens holding the metal sticks stepped forward and tried to nudge him out of their path to Shadow. He didn't budge. He put up his chin defiantly as he threw back his shoulders and snapped to attention.

Though her stone face was firmly in place, Malista was trembling from head to foot as she clutched at Paris' shoulder. "Tom, maybe they just want to do some more tests. Maybe I should just go with them. They haven't really hurt any of us yet."

"No." It was a flat refusal. No room for argument or debate. "I am not going to let them use MY away team as test subjects. If they want to take someone, they can take me. I'm the Senior Officer here."

The aliens seemed to be conferring again.

Paris didn't move, but kept his eyes fixed on them. If they understood body language, he wanted them to understand he was defying them. Denying them this. He would not let them take one of his away team. He didn't know if he could live with it. He still had nightmares about losing Pete Durst to the Vidiians.

"Tom, I don't want you to get hurt trying to protect me," she began in a tremulous voice. She wasn't doing well in hiding her fear. "We don't have weapons. Don't provoke them."

"I'm not. But you are not going anywhere with them. I'm not letting them separate us again. Not if I can help it. We're in this together. Step back. Slowly. Go rejoin the others."

Ethan Simms touched her arm, trying to persuade her to move further from the alien group. She couldn't seem to move at all. She hesitated, then finally took a step which left her halfway between Paris and Simms.

The conference among their captors reached a conclusion. The armed aliens stepped forward again, one of them lowering the metal stick at Paris. He watched its approach impassively, wondering what sort of weapon it was. And why it looked familiar to him.

In the instant that the tip of the pole touched him, a jolt of energy ran through him. His whole body spasmed and convulsed. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the floor with a cry of pain, losing consciousness instantly. He lay still, unmoving, so pale the faint red gold freckles that dusted his skin were for once easily visible. A bluish tinge surrounded his lips.

"Tom!" Malista tore herself free of Ethan's restraining hand and threw herself down beside the pilot's body. "He's not breathing!" Hot green eyes stabbed at Simms. "Ethan, can you do CPR?"

He nodded. It was part of the standard training for Security Officers.

"Then get down here. You do the heart massage if it's necessary. I'll get his breathing going again." Fervently praying all the while, she started moving Tom's head into position, tilting it back, clearing his airway.

Simms hesitated, gazing at the aliens. At the moment they didn't appear to pose a threat. They seemed to be watching the actions of the humans without attempting to interfere.

"Now, Ethan!" Shadow commanded. She took a deep breath and blew air into Paris' lungs. His chest rose slightly. "Check his heart!"

Haldersen helped Simms get down on the floor. He wound up in an awkward position, with his bad leg trailing out behind him as he knelt on his good knee. He got his hands in position and monitored Paris' heartbeat. "It was erratic, but now it's stabilizing."

Haldersen positioned himself between the trio and the aliens. He didn't know how much good he could do, but he felt he had to do something. Maybe he could slow them down.

Janine and Megan stepped forward to watch the resuscitation efforts, unable to bear the suspense of watching from the relative safety of the back of the room.

The group heard a wheezing cough. Malista sat back on her heels watching as Tom's chest rose and fell of its own volition once more. His eyes opened, searching for hers immediately. His attempt to sit up met with resistance as Shadow held his shoulders down. "Give yourself a minute to recover," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am." It was a weak echo of the impudent scoundrel's form of address to the captain.

Shadow bit her lip, caught unprepared for the sob of relief that surged through her.

Haldersen snapped his fingers to get the attention of the humans. The aliens were withdrawing, leaving the humans alone once more.

"Well, I guess we showed them," Tom joked faintly, his voice rasping uncertainly.

"Shut up, Tom," Malista whispered. "Sven, you and Ethan help me get him to his feet. We can make him more comfortable on one of the beds." She was hanging onto her self-control by a thin thread. Any minute now she was going to start screaming and once she started she might not be able to stop.

Haldersen helped Ethan up, then the two of them reached down for Paris' outstretched hands. The lieutenant submitted to being hauled to his feet and half-carried and half-dragged into one of the smaller chambers by Haldersen and Shadow, Ethan limping along behind with the help of Delaney and Lamont.

Truthfully, Paris felt weak and dizzy and probably couldn't have made it on his own. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the alien poking at him with that stick---painstick. That's what it reminded him of. One of those Klingon painsticks. Longer and with more punch to it, but the same type of weapon.

He glanced up as he was deposited on the hexagon-shaped bed. "Everyone stay together. Come on in to this room. I don't want to take a chance on any of us getting separated from the group again if we can avoid it." He took a deep breath and exhaled it on a low moan. "Owwwwwwww. My headache is definitely back. I do not recommend that you try that yourselves, boys and girls."

The away team crowded into the smaller room, taking comfort in the physical nearness of the others. Malista sat next to Tom on the bed and compulsively checked his pulse once more.

He met her concerned eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I'm okay, Sis. Just tired."

She shook her head mutely, lips pressed tightly together. She refused to meet his eyes.

"What happened?" Tom asked. "Why did they give up and leave?"

She shrugged. Her hands went to his shoulders and tightened on them convulsively.

Megan Delaney stepped nearer the bed and answered his first question. "You tried to keep them from taking Malista and they hit you with one of those sticks. Some kind of energy weapon. You dropped like a meteorite and stopped breathing. Your little sister here saved your life."

Unspeakably moved but trying not to let it show, Tom brought his long fingers up to stroke Malista's cheek. "Thanks, Sis. I guess it's a good thing you started taking lessons with the Doc, huh?"

The kind words and gentle touch were the proverbial last straw. Silent tears began to trickle down Malista's face and she flung herself face down on his chest, snuggling into the crook of his neck and releasing her fear and relief with mute trembling. The other four crew members moved away slightly to give the twosome as much privacy as possible under the circumstances.

Tom sighed and patted her back gently. His little sister really was having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. On top of a lousy month or two. He just wished he could do something about it. When the shaking eventually stopped, he tugged lightly on her ponytail. "Okay. That's enough. Come on, Sis. My shirt's getting soggy. Next time, you get to make Harry's shirt all wet. And no wiping your nose on my sleeve either."

Her choked laugh as she sat up preceded a swipe at his upper arm. "Don't you EVER do that again!" she commanded. "I don't suppose you have a handkerchief?"

"Nope. Sorry. Left the last one on the holodeck, I think. I wasn't a Boy Scout. Never prepared," Tom quipped, reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheek with his thumbs as his fingers framed her face.

A large hand dangled a white handkerchief in front of her tearstained face. She traced the hand visually back to its source, Sven Haldersen. "Thanks." She took the offering and tried to scrub away all traces of her emotional outburst. At least this time she hadn't burst into loud, noisy sobs. She felt slightly ashamed of her lack of control. All the others seemed so calm. They were taking everything in stride. Why couldn't she?

The big Swede shrugged. "They took my shirt, but they left me my pants---and my pockets. I always carry a handkerchief. I *was* a Boy Scout," he boasted as he smiled and winked encouragingly. "Eagle Scout, Troop 410, New Sweden Division."

Chuckling and shaking his head, the lieutenant dragged himself up to a sitting position and crossed his legs. He grabbed Malista and hauled her up to sit beside him. It didn't take much persuasion. She slipped her fingers around his wrist, reassured to feel the strong pulse beating there. "Okay, team," Paris announced. "Everyone on the bed. It's time for a staff meeting."

Megan eyed him disbelievingly even as they moved to comply. "I've heard of informal command styles, but really!"

"Come on, Delaney. We need to talk and we might as well be comfortable while we do it. I'm not suggesting an orgy. Though the aliens might find that interesting to observe, come to think of it." That remark provoked rueful smiles and broke the tension, just as he intended.

Shrugging, Megan squeezed into place between Haldersen and Simms. There was barely enough room for all six to sit on the bed's surface. "Okay, Lieutenant. What's the plan?"

"First of all, let's discuss what we know or think we know about our enemy," Paris proposed. "Did anyone get a good look at one of them?"

"Those hoods or robes or whatever pretty much cover them from head to toe---so to speak," Lamont commented.

"They're really tall and seem to like hexagons," Simms reported, feeling a little foolish for stating the obvious.

"That's it?" Paris said. "That's all we know?"

"They have four fingers on their hands, arms like tentacles, skin that's sort of scaly, and they don't taste very good?" Malista offered.

Four sets of eyes stared at her. Paris grinned.

"I bit one," she explained in a very small voice.

"What did they taste like?" Paris inquired curiously. "And, please, don't say like chicken---" Her only response was to elbow his ribs. "Ow. Okay. Sven, when we were discussing Ethan's and Megan's injuries, you said something about the aliens were probably testing the range limits of the joints. That scientists always study the anatomy of the animals that they capture. Is that what you think is going on here?"

Haldersen nodded hesitantly. "It's just a guess. But it would fit in with our standard procedures. The kind of tests we would run on non sentient life forms. Or on life forms we aren't certain are sentient."

"Like trying to understand our social setup by pairing us off?" Lamont pondered. "I wonder what conclusions they've come to. And why did they stop and just leave us alone? I thought they were going to drag Malista off somewhere. What would be the purpose of that?"

Haldersen was uncomfortably aware that everyone was looking at him. "I'm no expert. I don't know anything about these aliens either..."

"You're the closest we have to an expert and if you're right and we're the subjects of a study, maybe you can help us predict their next move. Or figure out their conclusions and what they'll do about them." Paris smiled at him calmly. "Don't worry, Sven. We're not expecting a miracle from you, just an idea of what to expect. So, elucidate. If you were in charge of this experiment, what would your conclusions be so far?"

Haldersen rubbed his chin as he thought for a few moments. "This is like building a house of cards on a very shaky table, but let's give it a try. Okay, let's suppose that the probe was meant to look for intelligent life forms. It came across Voyager and we somehow triggered its programming. It selected our crew for testing and the six of us as the test subjects."

"Why?" Megan interrupted. "Oh, I know we decided it had to do with eye color, but what does that mean? Why would they be looking for color?"

"Maybe color is more important in their culture than it is in ours," Malista whispered in Tom's ear.

He pulled slightly away from her and squeezed her hand. "Don't tell me. Tell everyone. This is a staff meeting. We need to brainstorm our ideas. We may hit on something important."

Shadow cleared her throat. "I was just thinking that maybe color is more important to them than to us. With some species color has a great deal of significance. I mean, like birds or insects or---"

"Insects!" Haldersen said, snapping into alertness. "The hexagon shape. It's found in some hive building societies."

"You think they're insects?" Simms asked dubiously.

"Of a sort. That might explain a few other things. If it's a hive society, they might have a form of telepathy or a non-audible language. Like bees on earth that perform a dance to give instructions to tell the others where to find food sources," Haldersen concluded.

"How does that help us?" Delaney demanded.

"For one thing, in a hive society there is only one leadership. We don't have to worry about factions," Simms mentioned. "They're all working toward the same goal."

Paris nodded. "Yeah. That might be important later. If we get around to negotiations. Now to get back to our situation. If you were running the tests, what conclusions do you think you'd have reached based on the tests we know about?"

Haldersen scratched his head. "Well, we don't really know what was done while we were unconscious, but I would imagine it was a superficial physical evaluation. They probably looked us over, took some samples..."

"Like my hair and fingernail," Malista supplied. "And they took samples from Tom. He has a whole series of puncture marks on his back. Janine was exposed to cold. Ethan and Megan had their joints tested. Sven's feet were turned blue by whatever they did to him and he was exposed to high temperatures."

"It looks like they spread the testing out among the six of us. So they wouldn't use up one of their test subjects?" Megan speculated.

"That makes sense. At first we were separated. Trying to see if we would try to escape. Probably looking for signs of intelligent behavior. An indication that we knew we were captives," the Swede theorized.

"I saw you. All of you. A viewport opened to each room and I reacted to seeing you. Malista responded kind of violently when they went back for a second sample or whatever it was they intended. That's when she bit one of them," Tom explained with a sly grin. "He didn't get out of the way fast enough. That's when they sent her to me. Maybe they were hoping I could make her behave? Or they just wanted to see what we'd do?"

"Your reactions must be the reason they put us all in here together. To study our interactions. Trying to determine our social structure," Haldersen muttered, thinking aloud. "They must have us under observation. When we were brought together, our first reaction was to take care of each other, though we don't have the equipment to demonstrate our medical technology."

"What would that tell them? I mean, what would that mean to them?" Lamont asked, then answered her own question. "Compassion can be considered a trait associated with sentient behavior, but in and of itself, it doesn't necessarily denote sentience. I mean there are lots of non-sentient animals that demonstrate nurturing behavior."

"And what about when they tried to pair us off?" Ethan chimed in. "We resisted their attempts to order our pairing. What conclusion would they draw from that?"

"Don't look at me!" Haldersen protested. "I don't know. They're just as alien to me as they are to all of you." He stumbled to his feet and moved across the room to stand near the doorway, gazing out into the larger room. It was obvious the mild-mannered scientist felt out of his depth on this unexpected and involuntary away mission.

To everyone's surprise, it was Malista Shadow who made the first effort to soothe his agitation, perhaps because she felt as out of place among this team as he did at this moment. Her shyness and self-consciousness forgotten to meet another's need, she left her place by Tom's side and with great temerity laid a comforting hand on Haldersen's arm. "It's all right, Sven. We don't expect you to have all the answers. We're just brainstorming, like Tom said. You've already helped a lot. You were the one who figured out why they had such a hard time knowing what to do with me. You really do seem to have some insight into what they're doing."

Megan Delaney joined the two of them, insinuating a flirtatious and somewhat proprietary arm around his waist. "Yeah, honey. We're in this together. Come on. Sit down and enlighten us some more. Sometimes I wish I'd paid more attention to classes outside my specialty," she confided, batting her eyes flirtatiously at the biologist. "But then, if I had, I wouldn't have an excuse to pick the brains of handsome men."

Flattered and calmed by the attention of two lovely ladies, the big blond returned to the circle. Malista slipped back into place at Paris' shoulder, accepting his nod of approval with a swift smile.

"What I don't understand," Ethan complained, "is why after almost killing the lieutenant, they just went off and left us like that. They didn't even make another attempt to take Malista or any of us with them. What was the point of dragging Malista away, if they weren't really going to take her?"

Lamont interlaced her fingers through his as she spoke thoughtfully. "I think they were going to take her. Maybe to study her more carefully to see how she fit in. She's the obviously different one in the group---I'm sorry, Malista. I don't mean--"

"It's okay," Shadow replied. "I know what you mean. If they've figured out our genders, they know I'm different from the other females. You and Megan are both much shorter than I am, which makes me different from you two. If they're going by coloring, I'm the only brunette, which is different from all of you. Of the six of us, my skin is the darkest. You're all very fair. My eyes are a darker green than Ethan's. If color is really a matter of importance to them, I may seem to be an aberration. Maybe they don't have my kind of color combinations here."

"What kinds of social structure are there? What do they think we have? Based on what they've seen of us so far?" Delaney asked.

"A hive?"

"Why do you say that, Malista?" Paris said.

"Well, there's a tendency to think others organize themselves the way you do."

"I don't think so," Lamont murmured. "That might have been their original impression of Voyager. That it was a hive traveling through space. But our behavior hasn't really been hive-like. And in hives, there's a great uniformity of appearance. Those in the same job function or social class tend to look alike. For example the Hamidions on Vualkar Five."

It was a classic Academy textbook example. Everyone but a bewildered Malista nodded agreement with the ensign's assessment. Reminded once more of her lack of Academy training and education, Shadow sank back next to Paris and allowing the others to guide the conversation, her eyes darting from speaker to speaker.

"We acted as a team, not individually," Haldersen said. "We sought to protect the weakest among us instead of turning on each other. We didn't pair off and go our own route. I'd say we demonstrated to any observers that we have at least a tribe-like mentality."

"If they think we're non-sentient animals, how would they interpret that sort of behavior?" Simms asked.

Lamont and Haldersen arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously. "A pride," they chorused.

"Megan, have you and Jenny been giving lessons in choral speaking? Or is it just the latest fashion?" Tom asked with a sardonic smile. He looked to Shadow to share his amusement, but noticed she had withdrawn into impassivity. Seeking to regain her attention, he seized her hand and used her forefinger to point to Haldersen. "Elucidate, sir. A pride?"

The scientist brightened, his enthusiasm for his subject growing as he spoke. "Yes. That would fit with what they've been able to observe of our human interaction. A pride of lions for example is a group of animals that live and cooperate together. Usually there is a single leader, but every animal has its own station within the group. There's generally a whole hierarchical structure. Alpha Male, Alpha Female, Beta Male, Beta Female, and so forth. Roles, responsibilities, and privileges within the group are determined by the station occupied. "

"So you think they're trying to figure out our roles?" Simms asked. "Studying how we behave in a crisis situation? What's next? A maze?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," Lamont commented. She smiled at Ethan as he frowned his dismay at her remark. "It's a common way of evaluating intelligence."

"So what are our roles?" Paris asked. "Have we given them enough information in the short time we've been here for them to figure it out? And once they figure it out? What's next?"

"I think it's pretty clear they know now that Tom is the Alpha Male, the leader of our pride," Sven clarified for Malista's benefit, bestowing a kind smile in her direction. If anything, she shrank further away from the group, tucking herself behind Tom's shoulder. Haldersen's next remark brought her upright and back into the conversation immediately. "And, of course, Malista is demonstrably the Alpha Female, the female leader of the pride, if you will."

"Me?" Her voice didn't quite squeak. "A leader? How do you figure that?"

"Oh, I agree with him," Ensign Lamont concurred. "In fact, I think that's why they didn't continue with their attempt to separate you from the group. Somehow they must have decided early on that Tom was the leader. Maybe because he was on the bridge the first time they found him. Or for whatever reason, they decided he was a leader. That's probably why he was allowed to see the rest of the group in their separate cells. They were testing his reaction to the stimuli of seeing others of his kind. No one else had that opportunity. I didn't know any of you were here with me until we all found ourselves in the same room."

"But why would they think that I'm the female leader? I haven't done anything---" She wasn't sure whether to be amused or appalled at the idea.

"Except save my life!" Paris reproved.

"And you ordered Ethan to help you," Megan added. "The minute Tom went down, you took charge. They would take that as meaning you outranked the other males."

"And Tom said you reacted violently when they came after you," Janine noted. "After all, you did bite one of them." She still seemed torn between shock and amusement. The ensign didn't think that course of action would have occurred to her. Biting wasn't a typical tactic in Starfleet training exercises. At least, not for humans.

"That may be why they didn't take her after all," Ethan announced abruptly as the idea popped into his head. To his chagrin, five blank gazes turned in his direction so he continued. "Well, they were going to take her to see where she fit in---and when the lieutenant stepped in and defended her, they probably assumed she was his. I mean, that she belonged to him. That she was his mate. His pair. Whatever." His words fumbled to a halt in confusion and dismay over his lack of tact. Damn. He wished Mikel Hudson was here. His partner was much smoother in crisis situations. And didn't blush as readily.

"I think Ethan is right," Janine agreed, smiling at him with approval and respect. "He and I are obviously a pair. We can't keep our hands off each other. They must have decided that Tom and Malista are a matched set, leaving Megan paired with Sven, So now they know how to pair us off and there was no reason to take Malista."

Tom and Malista swapped discomfited glances.

"We don't need to share that conclusion with B'Elanna Torres or Harry Kim, however," Delaney wisecracked. "Okay, fine. So we're paired off. Are they waiting for us to settle into our cage and set up housekeeping? Now what?"

"What would be the next step in their experiments?" mused Paris.

"Further behavioral studies?" Lamont suggested. "How we react to various stimuli?"

Malista's attention had wandered as she concentrated on an idea of her own. "Tom, didn't you say we needed to gather intelligence?" Her eyes drifted down from her regard of the top of the wall on one side of the room to gaze at him thoughtfully. "We can't do that from here, can we?"

Paris frowned suspiciously. Just from the innocent tone of her voice and the deliberate rounding of her eyes in a persuasive plea, he knew she was going to make a suggestion she knew he wouldn't like. "Yes. That's SOP." He explained the term as she raised an eyebrow. "Standard Operating Procedure. But we haven't been able to find a way to get out of here either. Why? What do you have in mind?"

She smiled at him ingenuously and tilted her head back, her eyes going to the top of the wall once more. The other five followed her line of sight, trying to identify the object of her observation.

******************

"I think we've got it, Captain," Harry Kim asserted quietly, trying not shout in his enthusiasm. "The fourth planet, the largest continent. The sensors show a dead spot that could very well be a domed city."

"Or it could be a naturally occurring sensory blind spot," Tuvok commented. "Caused by interference----"

"It's more likely to be artificial!" Kim flashed back, then bit down on his impatience with the Vulcan's pedantic attitude.

Tuvok just raised a supercilious eyebrow at the human's emotionalism. It was left to the captain to question the Ops Officer's conclusion. "Why do you believe it to be artificial in nature, Mr. Kim?"

"Because," Kim said, making no effort to distill the weary sense of triumph from his voice, "the dead zone is perfectly hexagonal in shape."

Janeway nodded with a kindly smile. "Very good, Ensign. That isn't likely to be a natural occurrence. Now, let's see if we can find a way to punch through that interference so we can get a lock on our crewmembers."

Lieutenant Torres joined Harry Kim at the Ops station and peered over his shoulder as he worked. Fortunately, it didn't seem to distract him. It might be hazardous to someone's health or ego to suggest that the Chief Engineer could be more useful elsewhere. The captain wisely decided not to make that suggestion. She'd found it was always better to have potential problems where you could keep an eye on them. Especially when the problem was a volatile half Klingon.

************

Four of The Six were watching the confrontation as if in the audience of a particularly competitive hoverball match. Not that the other two seemed to remember or care about their presence or opinions at this moment.

Malista Shadow was so excited and agitated she was practically bouncing as she marched rapidly from the wall to the bed and back again as if she couldn't possibly stand still. "Tom! We all noticed that the dome doesn't touch the top of the wall. There's a clearance of at least fifteen feet! And the wall is wide enough to make it possible, even easy. The partition has to be at least four inches thick! I saw it when I ran between the two rooms!"

On the other hand, Tom Paris, standing next to the bed with his arms tightly folded across his chest, was as immovable as a solid deuterium security barricade. "You are NOT going to try it!"

"Well, what do you have in mind? Doing nothing? You said yourself we need to gather information and we're not going to find out anything sitting here in this---this cell!" The atypically belligerent tone only seemed to reinforce his stubborn refusal to give any consideration to her idea. She turned on her sisterly coaxing tone. "Tom, it's wider than the tight rope in the circus program. I can do this. I know I can. I'll be careful."

"You just don't get it, do you? Harry is my best friend. I am NOT going back to Voyager and have to tell him I let you get yourself killed." He took a step forward, trying to edge past her. "I'll do it myself."

"The hell you will!" Malista shouted. She body-blocked him with her shoulder. Unprepared for her reaction, he bounced back and stumbled to regain his footing. Her hands shot out to clutch his upper arms to steady him and to command his attention. But she'd made her point. He hadn't fully recovered from the effects of being shocked by the alien weapon. And whatever other tests had been performed on his unconscious body.

Tom couldn't have been more astonished by her response than if she'd pulled a bat'leth out of her bra and threatened him with it. He'd expected a verbal response, but certainly not a physical one from his typically timid adopted sister.

Simms struggled to his feet and urged Lamont to help him move around the bed, drawing nearer to the quarreling duo. If this disagreement was going to disintegrate into a physical confrontation.....

"Excuse me?"

Both Paris and Shadow turned, relocating their glares from each other to Janine Lamont. "What?" they said in unison, in exactly the same impatient tone. As soon as they heard and became aware of their brusqueness, they each winced.

Malista gestured toward Tom. He could field this one since he wasn't ready to listen to reason. She plopped down on the bed gracelessly, looking for all the world like a sulky four year old as she crossed her arms and frowned ferociously.

"Sorry, Janine," Tom apologized. "What did you want to say?"

Clutching Ethan's arm just a little more tightly, more for her support than his, the petite blonde cleared her throat as she gazed up at the taller man. "I was just wondering if it might help if we clarified one point." She hesitated, not wishing to bring anyone's wrath down on her head. Simms gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

"Like what?" the lieutenant said with exaggerated patience and a glare in Shadow's direction. When had his little sister turned into such a---such a * woman*? Stubborn, pig-headed....Did she have Klingon blood as well?

"What would be the purpose of Malista---or anyone---breaking out of the cell?" Lamont asked timorously. Both parties fixed an aggravated stare in her direction.

"Reconnaissance," Simms supplied, unasked. "An exploration of the area to gather information."

"Information like what?" Delaney demanded. "How big our cage is? I think Tom's right. It would just be taking a foolish chance. What would it accomplish?"

Hurt by the contempt she thought she heard in her friend's voice, the usually placid and conciliatory Shadow stung back waspishly. "I might be able to find a way out of here. Would you rather just sit around and wait to see what tests those aliens will think up next? The next one may be more unpleasant than just twisting your elbow!"

The redhead's temper flared to meet the brunette's. "And you might just get yourself killed---or provoke them into killing us if they think we're animals that aren't trainable or won't stay in captivity."

"Do you want to live in captivity? I don't. Been there and done that and don't want to do it again," Shadow snarled, almost under her breath. Lost in her own thoughts, she dropped her gaze to her knotted fingers and tried to muster the best arguments for her proposed course of action.

Taking a deep breath, Paris stepped between the two women and reclaimed the attention of the group. "Hey, let's all take a step back and calm down here. No need to get stressed out. Janine raised a valid point. We need to analyze our options. What can we realistically hope to gain if we send out a scout? Malista---or anyone else," he added emphatically, letting her and the others know that the issue of who would be going was far from settled. If anyone went at all.

"I might be able to find our communicators. Or tricorders. I MIGHT be able to find a weapon----" Shadow began, in not quite a shout. She didn't know why she was so angry or exactly who she was angry with, but she couldn't seem to keep her emotions in check right now. Her dispassionate mask had disappeared, at least for the time being.

"Malista makes a good point," Simms said placatingly. "If we could locate our equipment, especially the communicators, it might help Voyager find us. If they're within range. At least, it would give them a signal to lock onto when they get into range."

The Greek woman smiled her appreciation at him and turned it into a triumphant 'so there' smirk as she shifted her attention back to Paris. She resisted the strong temptation to stick out her tongue at him.

"We don't know what happened to our equipment," Delaney pointed out. "If we could find it, it might be useless. They probably disassembled it for study."

For some reason Haldersen flinched at that comment, but didn't speak. He was a scientist. He'd never sought command and had no desire to take a leadership role. His function was to provide information, but he'd wait until he was asked to even do that. Especially if the information was something he and they would rather not know or think about.

"Maybe there is a way out of this place," Simms said. "Shouldn't we at least try to find out? We don't know what kinds of information we might be able to find."

"It would help if we could find a way to communicate with them," Delaney sighed. "We can't convince them we're sentient, if we can't communicate. Can we?"

Paris was growing more frustrated by the moment. He wanted to take action. Some kind of action. His lack of options was irritating and the responsibility for the well-being of his crewmates weighed on him like a targ's tritanium training collar. Protocol and all his training demanded that he accept that responsibility. He was the ranking officer. The final decision on any course of action would be made by him.

So he intended to get all the input he could before making any decision of any sort. No rushing into action without thinking of the possible consequences. "What other purpose would it serve to separate the group by sending someone out, or up, to look around?" he repeated.

Just then Sven Haldersen's stomach rumbled again. Loudly. The tension in the room eased slightly as The Six shared a laugh even as the Swede ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Our scout could look for food, since our captors haven't thought of it," Megan teased, patting Sven's stomach, then her own. "Lots of food."

"And water," Lamont added, pressing the back of her hand to Ethan's forehead once more. He still felt feverish and dehydrated to her touch. "Ethan needs water now and the rest of us will be needing it soon."

"I could use some right now myself," Megan complained, licking parched lips.

Paris tugged on his ear and began pacing in figure eights in the small floor space available to him. "That is something to consider. We have no idea if or when our captors will get around to taking care of our basic needs. We all know that Voyager is looking for us, and Captain Janeway doesn't give up easily, but we don't know how long we may be here."

Haldersen raised a hand and waited till Paris nodded before offering, "I just realized that there might be another benefit to an escape attempt. The aliens might interpret it as a sign of sentience. Of course, since we don't know how they measure---"

Paris nodded once, sharply. "All right. We seem to have come to an agreement. We do need to send someone to reconnoiter. But I think it should be me." His eyes fell on Shadow. She had always deferred to him in the past. He wasn't really expecting an argument. But from her expression, it looked like he was going to get one.

The other four figuratively and literally stepped back. This seemed to be a 'family matter'. As a rule, outsiders trying to interfere would just catch trouble from both sides.

Striving for a reasonable, rational approach, Shadow forced her voice to remain level and emotionless as she stared up at him. "Tom, that wall is only about four inches thick. It will take a very good sense of balance to walk along it. Ethan and Megan are injured. Janine and Sven are in good shape but don't have any training for this kind of physical activity. So. It comes down to the two of us."

She got to her feet and stood in front of him, meeting his eyes squarely. "I walked the high wire in the circus off and on from the time I was four. As part of my regular daily exercise program, I still practice on a balance beam. While you do have some experience on the trapeze, you don't have any experience at all in walking a tight rope. In addition to that, you're not well."

His jaw clenched as his face set in stubborn lines of resistance. "Malista, I have good coordination. I'm in good physical condition..."

"Not right now, you aren't. Tom, did you ever wonder why I chose Harry to be the catcher in our trapeze act and why I never would let you do it?"

"What has that got to do with anything?" he protested, bewildered by the apparent non sequitur.

"Harry is a steady, careful man. He isn't a thrill seeker. He's just as happy being a catcher as he would be as a flyer. He doesn't have that drive, that NEED to be the one taking the risks," Malista declared. "You do. I do. I have to fly. I can be a catcher for a short time, but all the time I'll miss the flying. The soaring, the danger, the thrill of doing something others find difficult or impossible."

"What does any of that have to do with this decision?" Paris had an inkling where this was heading, but he was going to force her to say it. To his face.

"I knew Harry could take the responsibility of being the catcher. He's a detail person. He checks the equipment himself and watches out for everyone else and he does everything he can to make sure he's ready to do his job. He thrives on having people depend on him. Lending support so others can fly is just another way of letting Harry shine at what he does best. I didn't ask you to be the catcher because I knew..." She paused, hesitated, her eyes darting to the others as if not sure she should continue. Tom nodded, giving her the go ahead. "I knew you wouldn't want to be responsible for the safety of the flyers."

"I can take responsibility," he stated deliberately, daring her to contradict him.

Her lips trembled as she tried a weak smile. It would be so much easier to just drop the subject right now. To let him have his way. She didn't want to hurt him, but she didn't see any way to make her point that didn't involve pain for him. For both of them. But this was too important to just surrender and retreat, even to win or keep his approval.

"I know you can. If you have to. But if you don't have to, when the choice is yours, then you avoid it." She hoped he would accept that statement and leave it at that.

He did not.

His smart ass facade dropped back in place with the ease of long practice. He crossed his arms loosely, his posture loosened. This was the Tom Paris who'd first come aboard Voyager---defensive, smirking, pretending to cool indifference to everyone's opinion---shutting everyone out, not allowing anyone to get close enough to hurt him.

That Tom Paris had never made an appearance to Shadow before. She was surprised how much it hurt to see him turning that cool, derisive grin on her.

"Come on, Crewman Shadow," Paris drawled, using the formality to drive a wedge between them, an attempt to make it seem the discussion was a professional disagreement. Nothing personal. "Let's get to the point. Regardless of what you may have *heard*, I am not a coward. I have accepted the responsibility for the safety and welfare of our away team. I'm not going to hide here and send you out to do something that I can do myself. I'm the Senior Officer here. I outrank you---and everyone else in this room. And as the commanding officer of this away team, I've decided that I will be the one to try an escape."

Malista stiffened her resolve and threw back her shoulders as she stared into his emotionally shuttered eyes. "You want to go yourself, not because you're the best qualified, or the one with the best chance of success, but for selfish reasons. Do you really want me to elaborate, *Lieutenant*?" Her eyes darted to the side, to indicate the other four who were listening and watching every nuance of the exchange between the two whose 'family relationship' was approaching the verge of collapse.

The muscle jumping in his jaw was the only indication of tension in the loose-limbed, carelessly graceful posture of the pilot. One hand waved carelessly in the direction of their audience. "Go ahead. Say what you like. Voyager is a small ship, as you know. Nothing remains a secret for long. This concerns all of us. You think I have some kind of a hidden agenda here? Or are you accusing me of being on some kind of power trip?"

"You'd rather risk your own life than be responsible for sending someone else into danger."

The blunt, honest, hurtful words were flung out into the open and lay there in the utter silence like a gauntlet hurled to the ground at his feet.

Silence reigned. It almost seemed as if no one dared to breathe as they waited for Tom Paris to respond to Malista's accusation.

Pain-filled green eyes met pain-filled blue eyes. Neither spoke.

At last, Malista broke away from the confrontation by lowering her gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry, T-T-Lieutenant," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have said that. You're right. It is your decision..." She wrapped her arms around herself, her face crumpling as she fought off the encroaching tears. She took two steps back and stood there wishing fervently for the gift of invisibility. Or for the ability to travel back in time and stop this before it ever started. She dropped her head, unable to face him, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt for her betrayal of his trust.

Paris stood rigidly frozen in place, expressionless, as he tried to absorb the blow and deal with the consequences. He looked at the other four. "Anyone else want to comment?" he said dryly, his tone edged in bitterness.

Not one of them would meet his eyes. They looked at each other, the walls, the floor... anywhere but at him. Janine made a move towards Malista, but Ethan restrained her and shook his head. Megan and Sven exchanged glances. Megan rested her forehead on Sven's chest, and cradled her injured arm between them, seeking warmth and aching with compassion for her friend---for both her friends.

Eyes closed, Lt. Thomas Eugene Paris wrestled with his demons in a mute match that lasted only moments, though it felt like hours to him. In that short space of time, he thought of every Starfleet regulation or protocol, every slick argument, every reply, every rationale, that he could offer to refute Shadow's simple statement.

Every lie he could tell himself---so he wouldn't have to confront the truth.

So he wouldn't have to admit that she was right.

Maybe he wasn't a coward in the traditional sense of the word. But in this instance, he was. He *was* a coward. He would rather take his own chances with injury or death than to have to live with the possible consequences of assigning someone else to do the exact same thing. Especially if the someone was the friend he called his little sister. Or B'Elanna. Or Harry. Or Janeway. Or Chakotay....

As the list grew longer, Paris threw on the emergency brake and halted his train of thought. 'Hell, Tom,' he thought. 'Why don't you just own up to it? You could live the rest of your life quite happily if you were never in command again. Of an away team or of the ship. You don't want to be responsible for *anyone* else getting hurt. Not after Caldik Prime. Not after Pete Durst.'

He opened his eyes and found Malista Shadow, still hunched into herself, head bowed as if baring her neck for an executioner's ax. And he was the one she was expecting to pass judgment and carry out the sentence.

She stood alone and isolated from the others by her own choice. She hadn't tried to enlist support from the other members of the team. She would see that as disloyalty to him. She wouldn't try to undermine Paris' authority. She'd appealed to his reason instead.

And he'd figuratively slapped her down and rejected her---as if her opinion had no value. Or worse, as if she had no right to offer an opinion in the first place. He'd treated her exactly the same way she'd been treated her whole life. By her family. And by Niko Dishon.

He'd expended a great deal of time, energy, and heartache in trying to build up that young woman's self-esteem and self-confidence. She'd trusted him and needed him and helped him in ways no one else ever had.

And now, when she finally had the courage to stand up for what she believed, in an effort to help him and the rest of their team, to stand up and defy HIM, one of the most important people in her life---Was he really willing to negate all that?

To tell her that she had misjudged him? That she didn't understand him as well as she thought she did? That she actually WASN'T the best qualified for the possibly dangerous assignment?

Was he so worried about facing his own fears that he would let them defeat him? Or was it that he was too worried about what the others would think of him? Couldn't he admit it when he was wrong? Couldn't he admit his weakness and need for help? Couldn't he back down from an untenable position without regard for his own pride? Couldn't he apologize when he knew he was wrong? A spark of recognition flamed up in his mind and seared him to his very soul.

'Oh, God!' he thought. 'In spite of myself, have I become my father?' He shuddered.

And took a step forward. Then another. And another. Until he was standing directly in front of Malista Shadow with no more than a few inches separating their bodies. She stiffened at his approach but didn't move, either away or towards him.

He wouldn't touch her without her permission. He'd forfeited that right, that privilege, when he'd shoved her away by calling her 'Crewman Shadow' in that disgustingly distant manner.

"Malista?" His voice sounded rusty, as if from disuse, but the tone said this wasn't a reprimand.

As if her head was almost too heavy for her neck to bear its weight, she gradually lifted her chin to fix her gaze on his chest. Then, slowly, her green eyes cautiously, warily slid up to his face.

He winced as he read the fear in them. Fear of being ridiculed? Fear of being belittled? Fear of rejection?

Fear of him.

He felt about half an inch tall at that moment, but the next move was most definitely his. He cleared his throat. "You're right."

He met her eyes, trying to let his regret show, making an effort to let go of his mask. He hadn't dared to hope for the immediate forgiveness that lit the green eyes as her lips widened in a soft smile. She shouldn't make it this easy on him. But he'd discuss that with her in more detail later. When they got back to Voyager.

"I'm sorry, Malista. You're right. I am taking this personally. And that's not what a commanding officer is supposed to do." He encompassed the others with a swift look. "She's right. I hate the idea of letting someone else run the risk, but Malista is the best qualified. As Milton said, 'They also serve who only stand and wait'," he quoted. "I guess that will be our part of this mission. So let's decide how we're going to do this."

All six drew closer together, relieved at the easing of the tension between Paris and Shadow and glad to have some kind of goal to work toward. The idleness of captivity was quickly becoming boring as well as stressful.

Without looking directly at him, Malista unobtrusively slipped her hand into Tom's and curled her fingers shyly around his. Swallowing hard and gazing steadily at the Security Officer, her 'brother' tightened his grasp comfortingly. Apology accepted.

Ethan Simms had been studying the problem since Malista had mentioned the possibility of going over the wall. Or rather onto the wall. "Has it occurred to anyone else that the empty space we're seeing between the dome overhead and the top of the wall just might not be so empty?"

"What do you mean?" Sven asked.

"I've been thinking that there might be an energy field, some kind of force field there," the young man ruminated. "We should test for that before Malista tries to climb on top of the wall."

"Good idea, Ethan. Before Malista makes this attempt, we're going to take every precaution. Now what else do we need to plan for?" The lieutenant asked, calling the meeting to order as his troops settled back into sitting positions on the bed.

***************

All attempts to communicate had been ignored. It was impossible to tell if the message had been received at all. If the hails had been received, they were being ignored.

Harry Kim and B'Elanna Torres were trying every possible method to get the sensors to punch through the interference that kept them from scanning inside the domed city on the planet below.

Another try. Another failure. The ensign plunged the fingers of both hands into his thick, inky hair and tugged at it. "Argh. Nothing is working!" The exasperated exclamation was carefully contained. Harry didn't want to chance drawing the captain's attention again. She might try to relieve him of duty. "How long has it been?"

Only B'Elanna Torres heard him. She shared his feelings. "Stop clock-watching, Starfleet. Now we've got to figure out why we can't get a reading. There are no thoron particles in the atmosphere. We're not reading any other materials that are interfering with the sensor----"

"How can you be so calm?" Kim hissed. "Anything could have happened---"

"And my worrying about it isn't going to accomplish a damned thing," Torres snapped. She wanted to scream from frustration herself, but was trying to funnel all her energy into finding a solution. She took a deep, calming breath. "Harry, you know Tom will take care of Malista. To the best of his ability."

"I'm not just worried about Malista! I'm not that selfish. Who will take care of Tom?" Harry muttered. "I know he thinks he can handle anything, but there are some things that---"

"I don't want to think about it!" B'Elanna announced, a little more loudly than she'd intended. Not only was Tuvok looking their way, but she'd drawn Chakotay's attention as well. She frowned almost insubordinately at the two senior officers until they turned back to their own duties. Lowering her voice once more, she continued, "Harry, all we can do is try to find a way to help them. Now, what exactly happens when we use the sensors on that dome? Are the readings not making sense? Or is that the sensors can't get through?"

With an effort, Kim focused once more on the control panel readings. "No. It's more like the sensor beams are reflected back."

"What about passive sensors?"

"I thought about that an hour ago," he said impatiently. "They bounce off too."

"Bounce off? Reflected?" Torres repeated. She clutched his upper arm between both her hands and squeezed tightly in her excitement. "Harry! If you want to prevent bounce back, what do you do?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You change the angle! If you change the angle of approach, you might prevent the reflection. The dome is deflecting the sensors. If we change the angle...."

Two voices raised simultaneously. "Captain!"

*********************

There was no force field between the top of the wall and the domed roof of the---building? This had been determined by the simple measure of throwing Ethan Simms' left boot over the wall. It passed over without any noticeable interference or reaction on the part of their hosts.

The next obstacle was to get Malista to the top edge, approximately fifteen feet above the floor. Even standing on Tom's shoulders, she would be three to four feet short of her goal. They shoved the bed against the wall. Tom stood atop the bed and looked at Ethan.

Simms estimated the distance and shook his head once more. "Not enough. You need at least another two feet."

"I could jump," Malista volunteered. She sat down on the edge of the bed to remove her own boots since it would be easier to get a sure foothold in her bare feet. She took the knife and its sheath from her boot and tucked it into her waistband.

"No," Tom vetoed. "You might lose your balance and fall."

Sven Haldersen stepped forward. "If I get on my hands and knees and Lt. Paris stands on my back, then Malista climbs on his shoulders----would that be enough, Ethan?"

Simms estimated the measurements with a quick look and nodded. "That would do it."

Paris jumped off the bed to let Haldersen get into place. Tom hesitated, pulled Malista in for a quick hug, then frowned down at her warningly. "Last minute instructions, Sis. If anything goes wrong, forget the whole thing. Come back here. If you get caught, surrender. I don't think they'll hurt you if you don't put up a fight. Don't use that knife on anyone. Use it as a tool to open doors or whatever if you need to. I think if you don't hurt them, they'll just bring you right back to your cage. That's what they do with zoo animals anyway. Remember, your job is to gather information. Not to start a fight."

Her smile was brave, but her eyes betrayed her misgivings. "I'll do my best, Tom."

He forced a smile of his own. "I know you will. Be careful!" He waggled an admonitory finger in her face.

She made a snapping motion as if she was going to bite him. "Yes, big brother. Now can I get on with it?" She was bouncing on her toes with nervous energy.

Megan came forward and gave her a one-armed hug. "Good luck."

Under her breath, Malista whispered, "Megan, if anything should happen---"

"It won't," Delaney said adamantly, as if her insistence could insure a positive outcome.

"But if---tell Harry I love him. And help B'Elanna take care of Tom," Shadow begged.

"Of course." The redhead smiled and stepped back, her mind boggling at the image that last request had brought to her mind. Her friend Malista was still very naive in some ways. Torres accepting HER help in dealing with Tom Paris? Not bloody likely. Not in this century. Or the next.

"Okay," Paris said. He took his position standing squarely on Haldersen's back. Ethan on one side and Lamont on the other, helped Malista balance as she climbed onto the bed, then with Tom's help up to his shoulders. From there it was an easy reach to pull herself up to the top of the wall.

Paris climbed off the other man's back and jumped off the bed, craning his neck up to watch her. He was poised to try to catch her if she fell. He only hoped that if she fell, she would fall in the right direction. Towards him.

Shadow was taking her time, balancing herself carefully on the partition. She looked down at the others. "Hey, it's wider than I thought. About five inches."

"What can you see?" Haldersen asked, getting to his feet and joining the Malista watchers.

"There are lots of rooms, but from here I can't see down inside them. I'm going to start walking in this direction and see what's there," she announced. She took the first step and frowned down at the group when both Janine and Megan groaned aloud.

"I hate heights," Megan moaned, frowning up at her friend. "Be careful!"

The Greek woman wrinkled her nose at the redhead. "Oh, it's plenty wide. Don't worry so much."

"Five inches isn't that wide!" Lamont protested as she cringed at the thought of risking a bad fall by trying to balance on a strip five inches wide.

"Sure, it is." To prove her point, Malista quickly did a forward flip, landing with perfect accuracy in the center of the partition. It might have scored a ten in a gymnastics competition, but it only served to make her audience more anxious, the opposite of the effect she intended.

With a gulp, Paris managed a weak smile. "Show off. Don't get too cocky, woman. Remember what happened to Icarus? Get to work. Don't forget, if you run into any problem, either come back here or give up. If they point one of those sticks at you, do what they want. There's nothing to be gained from trying to fight them directly."

"Yes, Tom," she said indulgently. "I know. 'To withdraw is not to run away, and to stay is no wise action, when there's more reason to fear than to hope.' I remember. I will be careful, I promise."

"Oh, great, now she's quoting Cervantes," Paris grumbled. "I knew I should have left him off that reading list. He's going to fill her head with all kinds of fantastic ideas."

"Hey, if you can quote Milton, I can quote Cervantes," Malista teased as she began her journey.

"Who?" Delaney asked, bemused.

"Miguel Cervantes. Don Quixote. The Man of La Mancha in the musical version," Paris replied, his eyes fixed on Shadow as she walked along the partition until she disappeared from sight

"I really should read more than starcharts, I guess," Megan sighed. "Maybe I'll borrow Malista's reading list when we get back to Voyager."

A few minutes later, the five humans suddenly found themselves staggering as the room shook.

"It's some kind of seismic tremor!" Simms shouted, grabbing Lamont protectively and pulling her to the side of the room near the doorway.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

"Malista!" Megan exclaimed. "Could she keep her balance through that?"

Paris turned stricken eyes towards the top of the wall. "Malista!" he shouted. She should still be in hearing range, shouldn't she?

There was no response. The humans traded glances.

"We should give her some time," Lamont suggested. "Maybe she'd already found out where they're keeping our equipment. She may not have even been on the wall." That argument was weak and she knew it, but she couldn't help trying to keep positive thoughts going.

Paris flashed a grim glance at the petite blonde. Without a word, he began to pace, silently counting the seconds with each measured tread. He would give her an hour. No, thirty minutes. No, make it an hour. Then he was going after her.

He could rationalize it as a rescue mission. Or as a second patrol going out since the first failed to report in. But the truth was simple enough: there was no way he could or would stay here or leave the planet without knowing for certain what had happened to Malista Shadow.

He knew, as surely as he knew his eyes were blue, that he could not live with uncertainty about her fate. And he couldn't bear to think he had neglected any slim possibility of helping her.

************

"Captain, we're reading seismic activity on the planet's surface again," Chakotay announced as he peered at the console between their command chairs.

Janeway quickly returned to her seat. She'd found herself hovering over Pablo Bateheart, the pilot in Tom's absence, as he made the course corrections necessary to bring the ship's sensors to a different angle. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she told herself. She just would have been more at ease if Tom Paris had been at the helm during the tricky maneuver of attempting to enter the planet's turbulent atmosphere.

"Incoming," Chakotay announced. "All hands brace for impact."

The entire ship shimmied as Bateheart fought for control as the ship was hit by a shock wave. Janeway lurched to his side and anchored herself to the back of his chair with one hand as she assisted him with helm control with the other as Voyager rode out the shock wave. With its passing, alarms made themselves heard as those on the bridge regained their footing and busily got to work at their assigned stations.

"Damage reports are coming in from all over the ship," Kim noted. "No casualties or serious injuries. Minor damage to the starboard shields which took the brunt of the shock wave."

B'Elanna Torres was quickly and methodically reviewing engineering systems from her station. "Inertial dampers are off-line. Guidance control is off-line."

Janeway acknowledged the information with a nod. "What was that?"

"Evidently when they have seismic activity, it has very serious consequences," Chakotay mused wryly.

"According to my readings, on this occasion the planet's crust ruptured simultaneously in two locations and emitted powerful discharges of detritus, gases, and thermal energy," Tuvok stated. "The resulting conflagration propelled debris into the atmosphere with a high magnitude of force, which in turn was responsible for----"

"You mean two volcanoes erupted at the same time and the gases and shock wave pushed the ship out of the atmosphere?" Chakotay interrupted.

The stoic Vulcan's demeanor did not betray any hint of annoyance or amusement. "That is what I said, Commander."

Turning her back to the Vulcan, Janeway rolled her eyes, then fixed them on her first officer. "Have you been taking smart mouth lessons from Tom Paris, Commander?" she murmured as she resettled in her chair.

Chakotay's dimpled flashed briefly in her direction though he kept his eyes on his monitor. "Captain, we will discuss that remark at a later date," he murmured. "The force of this seismic quake was much more severe than the one we monitored an hour ago. About twice as powerful."

Janeway let that one go. "Mr. Kim? What's the condition of the dome? Can you tell from your readings if this quake had any affect on the city?" Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of bright light and spun toward its source even as the intruder alert sounded once more.

Standing between the conn station and the forward viewscreen were four astonished, bedraggled human beings. Four of Voyager's six missing crewmembers.

*****************

Megan Delaney had been watching Tom Paris pace for almost an hour. There wasn't much else to do for entertainment. And she was puzzled and slightly put out. At one time, she'd thought she knew him pretty well. They'd dated, flirted, even necked on occasion. The relationship hadn't gone any further because Tom had constantly backed away with a laugh, a smile, a flirtatious remark. Now she was beginning to think she'd never scratched the surface. Never understood him at all. He'd never allowed her to see him the way she'd seen him in these circumstances. Vulnerable. Angry.

Emotionally involved.

Every few minutes, Paris would stop for a moment, listen intently, then begin his march once more. Megan didn't think he was aware that he was muttering under his breath, a continuous flow of numbers. She thought he might be counting his steps though it seemed like an exercise in futility to her. Still watching the pilot, she stepped nearer to the bed where Ethan Simms and Janine Lamont were seated.

"What do you think we should do, Ethan?" Delaney whispered. "I'm getting worried about him. If Malista doesn't show up soon---" She left the rest of that thought unspoken. She was trying to starve her imagination, which insisted on feeding her gruesome mental pictures of her friend being tortured in the name of science by some alien, and therefore, scary race.

"That's it!" Paris announced emphatically. He spun on his heel and faced his team. "By my count, it's been almost an hour since she left. If she didn't run into trouble, she'd have reported back by now."

"So what do you---" Simms didn't get the question half out of his mouth before Paris pounced.

"I'm going after her." He paused, waiting for the arguments. The other four looked at each other and back at him. Their tired expressions told him nothing. "What?" he exploded impatiently.

"What do you want us to say, Tom?" Megan asked, her blue eyes searching his.

The tall blond man combed his fingers agitatedly through his hair. "I don't know. I know I have a responsibility to you, to all of you, but I---"

"We won't be any better or worse off with you here," Lamont commented matter-of-factly.

"Janine is right," Simms agreed. "We can't escape. We can't communicate or negotiate with our captors. We're obviously outclassed in terms of technology. We're going to be stuck here until Voyager finds us and rescues us---or until we find a way out for ourselves." The ensign smacked his good knee with his fist. "Damn it, if my leg wasn't so---I feel so useless."

"Join the club," Delaney muttered unsympathetically. "Go, Tom. It may not help, but it couldn't hurt either."

"I just wish I could predict what the aliens will do," Haldersen grumbled. "If we only had more information."

"That's what Malista and I are looking for," Tom averred, his firm jaw setting in determination. "Now all I have to do is get to the top of the wall."

"Maybe if I keep my bad knee up, I can kneel on all fours, I mean threes," Simms quipped lightly, "then Sven can stand on my back and you can climb onto his shoulders. That ought to give you enough height to reach the top." Lamont made a movement of protest, quickly halted as he shook his head. "I'll be careful."

Megan sighed. "I suppose Janine and I can try to steady you and Sven."

The plan was implemented within moments. Tom made it to the top of the wall, pulled himself up and rose to a standing position. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Take care of each other."

'This isn't as easy as Malista made it look,' Tom thought as he began carefully placing one foot in front of the other, holding his arms straight out from his shoulders to assist him in balancing. He was glad to be doing something. Anything was better than sitting and waiting. No matter what Milton said.

"Do you feel that?" Janine asked, darting a look at the floor. Not waiting for an answer, she shouted a warning. "Lieutenant, there's going to be another----"

Another tremor hit.

As the world shook, Tom lost his balance. He toppled down, caught the top of the wall with one hand and went crashing into the wall with one side of his body as he scrambled frantically for a better hold. Hanging there, struggling to gain some purchase for his feet in order to brace himself, he caught a flash of the bright white light that always seemed to precede the alien transport or probe. It was coming from the room he'd just left. "Oh, great. Now what?" he complained, rolling his eyes skyward. "Is this a test?" He received no immediate audible answer from a Higher Power.

All he could do was hold on for dear life until the quaking stopped. When the world had steadied itself once more, he made a great effort and pulled himself back atop the wall. It was much harder this time around. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and sore. But he wasn't ready to give up yet. The infamous Paris stubbornness was occasionally good for something.

Once he had precariously regained his footing, he made his way back to the cell. The room was empty. The rest of the away team had vanished just as suddenly as they'd arrived.

"Well, that simplifies things, Tommy boy," he mused aloud. "Either the aliens took them to another location for testing or they've been moved to another, more secure cell because the aliens did catch Malista running around."

He carefully shook himself and stretched, trying to loosen tightening muscles which aggravated the stiffness in his back and neck. "Whichever the scenario, I can't do anything for them. So that leaves---looking for Malista. Which is what I wanted to do anyway. And stop talking to yourself, Paris. If the aliens are listening, they'll think you're certifiable. And if you don't get out of here soon, you will be."

Turning back in the direction in which Malista had gone, Tom began to retrace his steps. He was hardly aware that he had replaced talking to himself with humming.

If he had noticed, it might have amused him to recognize that the tune he was humming was "The Impossible Dream".

*******************

A quick visit to Sickbay had restored the four crewmembers to good health. The doctor had been impressed by Ensign Simms' account of Paris' first aid treatment of the injured. It seems the lieutenant had paid more attention to the doctor's lectures than he had believed. While being treated and waiting for treatment, Neelix had managed to fill one of the doctor's prescriptions by providing liquid and solid refreshments to the four who were mildly dehydrated and, in Sven's case, severely undernourished---for Sven.

Properly dressed in fresh uniforms, the four joined the senior staff in the briefing room to give a complete report. Before the newcomers had settled into place, B'Elanna Torres burst out, "What happened to Tom?" Harry Kim darted out a hand and snagged her arm, pulling her back into her chair as she started to her feet.

"Lieutenant." With one word, Janeway reasserted her authority and regained the attention of everyone in the room. "We have not forgotten that we still have two crewmembers missing. I'd like to hear an account of your experiences. Would you like to begin, Mr. Simms?" She chose the Security Officer because he was trained to prioritize and would get right to the most important information.

Within thirty minutes the staff had been brought up to date on what had occurred on the planet's surface, including Haldersen's theories concerning the nature of the testing the away team had been subjected to. The discussion of the confrontation with the aliens captured everyone's interest.

"When they tried to separate Malista from the group, Tom interfered---" Simms explained.

"Of course, he did," Torres muttered, shaking her head.

"And they killed him," Megan Delaney declared. Before the Chief Engineer could react with more than a searing glance, the redhead quickly continued, "But fortunately, Malista got him breathing again."

With a reproving glance at Delaney for her typical lack of tact, Lamont continued,

"He was fine when we last saw them. They both were. The aliens decided not to take Malista after all. We decided---" She faltered to a halt as she remembered that she certainly didn't want to be the one to deliver an unexpurgated report of the away team's speculations concerning the reasons the aliens had decided against separating Paris and Shadow. Torres' control over her emotions was already tenuous, at best, and Janine didn't want to upset Harry Kim further.

"We decided it was time to stop being so passive and do some recon," Simms supplied.

"Malista thought she could walk along the top of the wall and gather information. Uh, after some, uh, discussion, the lieutenant agreed---"

As Simms continued, Torres and Kim exchanged glances. Something else had happened and the Security Officer was dancing around the point, either because it was a personal matter or to spare someone's feelings. It didn't matter right at this moment. But the two of them were going to know everything that went on down there. They'd just wait and ask Tom and Malista. They wouldn't accept the idea of any other possible outcome. Having wordlessly settled that issue to their mutual satisfaction, Torres and Kim returned their attention to the away team's report.

"---and the last we saw of Lt. Paris, he was walking along the top of the wall. That's when the tremor hit and we were suddenly back on the ship," Simms concluded.

"So you have no idea where the two of them are? You never succeeded in communicating with the aliens to any extent?" Janeway mused.

Chakotay frowned thoughtfully. "I don't understand why they sent you back at all. If they were going to send you back, why now? Maybe when we took the ship into their atmosphere, they decided to get rid of us by returning you."

"But why would they send back these four and keep Malista and Tom?" Harry Kim complained. "If they finished their testing and came to some conclusion as to our sentience or non-sentience, you'd think they'd return ALL the specimens they took. Not just some of them."

"Maybe because they weren't in the same room with the others?" Neelix suggested hopefully. "When they find them, the aliens may send Tom and Malista back as well."

The captain turned thoughtful gray eyes upon the scientist. She had the impression that he was holding back. "Is there something more, Mr. Haldersen?"

The big blond scientist flinched visibly. "It would be purely speculation, Captain."

She waved a hand at him, encouraging him to continue. "That's all right. You seem to have done well so far. If this were your experiment, why would you return some, but not all, of your test subjects?"

He darted a quick glance around the room, his eyes barely skimming each face before dropping them to fixate on the table directly in front of him. "It would probably depend on if they concluded that we are sentient. If the aliens concluded that we are sentient, they would probably return ALL the specimens. At least, that's what ethical Federation scientists would do. However, if they decided that we are not, that we are, in fact, non-sentient animals of some type...." He stopped to take a sip of water from the glass in his hand.

"If they concluded that Voyager's crew are non-sentient animals...." Janeway prodded.

"Then they would probably free the specimens they no longer needed. If there was no interest in long term study. Or if they were afraid of disrupting our ecosystem by removing too many of its inhabitants," Haldersen explained.

"But why would they keep two?" Torres exploded.

"For mating purposes?" Megan Delaney squeaked spontaneously, then almost melted from the heat of the glare the Chief Engineer sent scorching her way. "Sorry." Megan clasped her hands in her lap and mentally took a vow of silence. It was safer.

"Not likely," Chakotay stated. "If they were interested in mating or breeding humans in captivity, they would have kept all six. Just for the safety in numbers. You can't always guarantee a viable match so you would want a larger herd---never mind. Just say that's not the reason that comes to my mind."

"Nor mine," Janeway agreed grimly. "Would you like to say it, Mr. Haldersen, or shall I?"

"What?" Neelix asked innocently. "Why would they keep Tom and Malista?"

Haldersen clenched his big fists. Still without looking up, he went on in an even, pedantic tone. "The final step in testing non-sentients is often---a male and female pair would provide all the information needed to understand the anatomical structure and the function of the---" He hesitated once more. "Dissection. The final step in this sort of experiment usually involves dissection."

The stillness in the room was broken only by the sound of breathing.

*****************

After almost falling four times, Tom Paris had decided to settle for crawling along the top of the wall rather than walking. It was a little slower going, but he felt more comfortable and less likely to take a header. Malista was definitely better at this than he was.

Most of the rooms near their former cell seemed to be labs of some sort. Paris peered down from his lofty perch into the fifteenth room that he'd checked out. And that's where he found her.

She was leaning against the wall he was standing atop and watching a cluster of aliens who stood about twenty feet in front of her. There were twelve aliens in the room, these much smaller, maybe half the size of the others they'd seen. They were wrapped from head (?) to toe (?) to tentacle (?) in the same enveloping brown robes which totally concealed their physical form from view. These smaller aliens didn't appear threatening. If anything, their body language gave Paris the impression that they were a little intimidated by her as they studied Malista curiously.

It seemed to be a question of who was watching whom. Malista was staring back at them with equal intensity. No one was moving or making a sound. As she heard Tom's approaching hum, she cast her gaze upward and smiled with relief before snapping wary eyes back to the aliens.

"Malista? Are you okay?" Tom inquired as he slowly lowered himself to a sitting position on the wall.

"I'm fine," she said a little too brightly. "I---uh---jumped down into this room during the first quake and I've been here ever since. They haven't done anything except watch me. And I didn't know what to do either. I thought they would sound an alarm, arrest me or---or do something!"

Paris jumped down, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, letting his legs bend to absorb some of the shock of impact. It didn't help. The jarring still sent a ribbon of pain winding up his spine and neck and he couldn't stop a hiss of pain from escaping his clenched lips.

Shadow's hand shot out to steady him and drew him close to her side. "Are you okay?"

Looping his arm around her shoulders, Tom turned stern blue eyes on her. "Don't ever scare me like that again, Sis. You cost me some years off my life that I can't afford to lose. Hey, look at that!"

She followed his stare. What had caught Tom's eye, however, was that the aliens had paired off and, in perfect imitation of the humans, now had their arms---or what passed for arms---around each other.

"Monkey see, monkey do?" Tom mused aloud.

"What?" Malista whispered. "What do monkeys have to do with anything? These aliens don't resemble any primate I've ever seen!"

"Do you have to be so literal? That's Harry's influence. Got to be. Never mind that now. Look at them. They're copying us."

"So?"

"So...." Tom hesitated. "Maybe we can communicate? What's that thing over there?"

With his free hand he gestured toward the only piece of equipment in the room, a large square console against the wall to their left. He was slightly amused to note that the aliens copied that gesture as well.

"I don't know, but when I first got here there was a light display emanating from it. It was throwing a pattern of multicolored spots on the opposite wall. And there was a rattling noise. It just kind of died down a few minutes ago," Shadow replied.

"Tom, what are we doing?" she hissed as he led her into a sidewise sliding motion, taking a slow, step by step approach to moving them closer to the equipment. The aliens mirrored their every move, always carefully maintaining the same safe distance out of reach of the two humans.

"We're going to find out what that is," Paris said, smiling with practiced ease. He didn't know if the aliens understood human expressions, but his charm and handsome features had helped him in too many situations to ignore their existence and possibly positive influence.

"We don't have a tricorder. We don't know what it is. What are we going to do?" Shadow insisted, slightly calmer now that her 'big brother' was close at hand.

They stopped next to the equipment and studied it for a few moments. "It has buttons," Paris stated. "Lots of buttons. And a dial."

"Well, that's certainly informative," she commented.

He waggled a red-gold eyebrow at her. "So let's push some buttons!"

"Tom!" She wasn't sure if he was serious. "You don't know what it will do! That could be dangerous!"

"Hey, if it was dangerous, would they let us get near it?" he asked reasonably, turning his charming smile on her. It was Smile Number Five on B'Elanna's scale---wicked and inviting its target to join him in mischief.

"I think there's a flaw in that logic somewhere," she protested quietly. She sighed again. She had no more resistance to that smile than B'Elanna Torres or Harry Kim. "But damned if I know where. Okay. Which buttons?"

Paris shrugged. The aliens all shrugged. At least he thought they did. Smaller motions were more difficult to detect under those voluminous robes. He began pushing buttons at random. Malista did the same.

They stopped abruptly when the panel began to make clicking noises and a stream of colored flashes of lights began to appear on the opposite wall. The little aliens turned sideways so they could keep both the lights and the humans in view.

"So what is this? Is this all it does? It doesn't seem to operate anything else?" Malista asked, frowning her puzzlement as she studied the flashing lights. There were approximately twelve different colors of spots and short rays of light bouncing on the blank wall opposite the machine.

Tom's eyes suddenly widened. "We talked about the flashing lights being their language, right?" She nodded. "Now listen to the clicks."

She frowned more deeply, then shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, Tom. I just don't understand what you're getting at. The lights seem to be just a random manifestation of some sort of---"

Tom held up his free hand to stop her. His motion was echoed by the aliens. "Man, this is getting spooky," he whispered, disconcerted by the duplication of his every move.

"But listen to the clicks. They aren't random. There's a rhythm. Da-di-da-da-da. Di da dum dum da."

Her eyebrows flew up almost to her hairline.

"Listen, Malista," Tom insisted. He began to snap his fingers to the beat he was hearing in the clicks.

She nodded slowly, with dawning comprehension. "So are the clicks the language? Or is it the flashing lights?"

Paris narrowed his eyes. "It's not just a click. Can't you feel the vibration? It's almost like the clicks are reverberating through the walls...like a speaker system?"

"What are you saying, Tom? You think this device is---"

He grinned broadly. "I think it's a music box."

"You mean a piano?" She eyed him dubiously.

He shook his head. "No, a music box. The old ones used to have a key to wind the mechanism, but with the newer ones you just flick a switch and it plays music."

She smiled weakly as if willing to humor him. "Okay. And you think this is their version of a music box?"

"Sure. Don't you get it? Doesn't the beat sound familiar? You've heard it before. At Sandrine's. I've played it on the piano. That's The Pakled Polka."

"What?!" Her voice was a squeak of disbelief.

****************

"How are the repairs going, B'Elanna?" Chakotay asked, striding into Engineering.

In answer, Torres tilted her head back and bellowed, "Carey! How are you coming with the inertial dampers?"

Joe Carey's curly head emerged from behind a large console on the upper level. "Systems will be restored in thirty minutes, Lieutenant," he replied, not at all disconcerted by his chief's unorthodox manner of communication.

"Make it fifteen!"

"I canna change the laws of physics," Carey muttered in a perfect imitation of Starfleet's most famous engineer, as he sank back down out of sight to return to work.

"WHAT?!" It was a mild roar---for the Chief Engineer.

His head popped back up. "I'm doing my best, Lieutenant, but if it isn't done right, it will just have to be done again! Which will make for a very short trip." His expression was perfectly deadpan.

Torres started to reply sarcastically, but felt a hand on her arm and instead looked at Chakotay. "Let him work," the first officer said quietly.

"We can't make another pass at that dome until we get those inertial dampers online!" she retorted. "I've almost got guidance control working to optimum efficiency---not that you're going to get that with Bateheart at the helm!" she added scathingly. Her eyes turned upward towards Carey's position once more.

"Yelling at your subordinates isn't going to speed repairs. You're slowing them down by interrupting," the commander reasoned. "I know it's hard to wait----"

She'd been doing so well at first. But now she wasn't on the bridge trying to keep Harry Kim from worrying himself into uselessness and had time to focus on her own fears. Mentioning guidance control had brought Tom Paris forcefully to mind.

"What if Haldersen is right?" The words erupted from her as if they could no longer be contained. "What if those aliens are---"

"You don't know that!" Chakotay interrupted sharply. "Don't let your imagination take wings, B'Elanna. Remember, Tom Paris evidently has more lives than the proverbial cat! How many times have we written him off as lost? And he's always come back---usually with a smart ass comment to make about how long it took us to come to his rescue."

Torres clenched her fists and struck out at the nearest bulkhead. Even Klingon strength didn't---quite---make a dent. "I hate waiting!" she seethed through gritted teeth.

*****************

As tired, thirsty and hungry as they were, The Pakled Polka's rapid rhythm quickly took its toll on the humans. The aliens didn't seem to be the least bit fatigued but faithfully imitated every move. Or did their best at any rate. An awkward best.

Tom Paris returned to the 'music box' and pushed a few more buttons. He was rewarded by a change in the pattern of the lights flashing. He turned the only dial on the console and the tempo of the clicks modified as well. "What does that sound like?"

Malista licked dry lips, trying to catch her breath. "Like your imagination is running away with you?"

"Come on! Just listen to the rhythm of the sounds and use your own imagination to fill in the blanks where the musical notes ought to go." He couldn't believe she couldn't hear it as easily as he did. Harry would have.

"One-two-three, one-two-three---a waltz?" she ventured.

"Yeah," Paris agreed and reached for his partner once more. He began to hum the tune to "Ten Minutes Ago", the waltz from the Rodgers and Hammerstein version of Cinderella that the Delaney twins were so eager to perform.

"Tom, what's the use? What are we trying to accomplish? Teaching the aliens to dance?" Though protesting, she began to waltz with him. Well matched in height, they danced gracefully together as the aliens clumsily tried to follow their movements.

"We're trying to communicate," the lieutenant replied. "Remember, Sven said some insects dance to communicate. Maybe these little guys will get the idea that we are intelligent, sentient beings. Dancing is an art form in almost every culture the Federation has ever contacted. Of course, there's such a wide variety of styles..."

"I don't think they're very good at waltzing," Malista stated, as the aliens stumbled around in a clumsy repetition of the human's movements. "They don't seem too coordinated to me."

Paris suddenly stopped and slapped a palm to his forehead. "Damn! Of course not! Their anatomy isn't the same as ours. Think about it. From what little we've seen, their bodies seem to be less---less rigid. Their skeletal structure isn't like ours. They may be invertebrates." He left Malista standing alone in the center of the room, surrounded by the alien pairs, as he ran back to the machine.

Panicked for a moment, she froze in place, following him only with her eyes. "Tom! What are you doing?" She took a deep breath and comforted herself as she noticed the aliens didn't make an aggressive move. They seemed to be waiting for the humans' next motion.

Paris was pushing buttons and fiddling with every control. "I'm trying to find some kind of music that you can dance to. That slinky stuff you warm up with. Or the jazzy stuff you play when you do your gymnastics workout."

"The interpretive---" Shadow spluttered. "Tom---" In her exasperation with her companion, she forgot her own self-consciousness and their watching audience. Malista stalked toward the man, intent on demanding some kind of explanation.

He must have hit the right combination for he spun on his heel to face her with a triumphant grin. "Listen to that!"

"What? It's just clicking!" She raised her voice in exasperation.

He exhaled noisily as he frowned his disapproval and aggravation at her lack of cooperation and imagination. "Listen. You can hear the music if you try!"

She folded her arms across her chest and scowled back at him. "All I hear is a clicking, rattling noise. That is NOT music and I can't dance to that. And what's the point anyway?"

"Interpretive dance, not just a pattern like the Romulan Rumba or a Saturn Spin! A repetitive pattern could be misinterpreted as just rote behavior. If you could dance something that would demonstrate creativity, illustrate the way our bodies move, express some feeling---it might get our message across!" In his unbridled enthusiasm at finally having a working plan in mind, he surged forward and grasped her upper arms, lightly shaking her. He was slightly disconcerted to notice out of the corner of his eye that the little aliens were continuing to mock his every movement but kept his attention on his 'little sister'.

"What message?" she sighed tiredly, leaning forward to rest her head on his shoulder.

Putting one hand around her to rest on her waist, he used the other hand to tip her chin up. For a brief moment, he really looked at her. Her eyes were dull, her skin dry, her lips beginning to chap and crack from dehydration. He probably looked just as bad, if not worse. He would guess they'd been without food or water for at least eight hours by now. If not longer. And to top it off, Malista had already had a roller coaster of a day emotionally and physically before being taken prisoner. It was no wonder she was ready to lie down and quit in her weariness.

But Tom wasn't ready to let her. He said the magic word. "Harry." A spark of interest and hope widened her eyes as she studied him. "Harry is waiting for you. Malista, I think we have a chance at this. And if it doesn't work---"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "If it doesn't work?"

That scapegrace grin was back, though he was worn out himself. "Then we can have fun dancing to the music. And we aren't any worse off than we were back in that cell. These little guys seem to find us entertaining. Who knows? Maybe they'll send us on the road---we'll do dancing exhibitions all over the planet---play only the best clubs! Be the idols of millions!"

A wide grin started to spread across her face. "You, Tom Paris, are positively, absolutely, unmistakably a certified lunatic."

He tilted his head to one side. "Yeah. So?"

Her lips trembled. She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him against her in a tight hug. "And I love you." She held the embrace for a warm, sustaining moment, then took a step back, pressing a quick, dry kiss on his cheek. "I just wish I wasn't so thirsty."

"Yeah, I know what you---whoa! Look at that!"

Her head snapped up to follow his gaze. Two of the small aliens had left the group and were standing next to a wall. A panel suddenly slid open. The aliens brought out a tray that had twelve bottles on it. The necks of the bottles were long and thin, no more than a centimeter in diameter. The alien bearing the tray walked straight to the humans and offered the tray to them.

"Serving your guests first, huh? Well, you have better manners than the big guys around here." Tom gingerly took two bottles off the tray, handing one to Malista, then holding up the one in his hand to inspect it. It was made of a flexible plastic of some kind and was filled with a thick liquid. It wasn't water, but it was liquid.

Tom raised an eyebrow at Malista. She smiled halfheartedly.

Ten of the other aliens took the remaining bottles from the tray and held them waist high in front of them. It was so quick, the humans almost missed it. Something that resembled a straw darted out of the area of the robe where they presumed the aliens' faces to be. The snout, or whatever it was, disappeared down the neck of the bottle and sucked the liquid up in a matter of milliseconds.

"You think we should drink it?" Malista asked wistfully, eyeing the bottle. She sniffed at its contents. "It smells sweet."

"Let me try it first." He raised the bottle and tilted it over his waiting mouth. Nothing.

Malista frowned. "Maybe you have to squeeze it?"

With a slight shrug, Paris did just that. A thick glop of the orange-brown liquid plopped out and splattered into his mouth. And onto his chin. And onto his chest.

Shadow giggled.

Paris glared at her.

Totally unrepentant, she asked, "What does it taste like? Or did you get enough in your mouth to be able to tell?"

Using his fingertips to collect the errant drops, he scraped them off in his mouth and smacked his lips. "Thirst quenching but rather sweet. A saucy little vintage with a fruity bouquet---"

"Oh, stop!" She aimed a lazy swat at his arm. "Stop making fun of Trent." The urbane

Lt. Salaka fancied himself as quite a connoisseur of fine liqueurs and wines. Tom was doing a perfect impression of one of his commentaries. "What does it taste like? Are you feeling okay?"

"Sweet. Fruity. Sort of like those fruit nectars Neelix concocts. Go ahead. Try it."

Paris watched in great disappointment as she tilted her head back, aligned the mouth of the bottle with her own, and squeezed gently as if milking the plastic container. The liquid flowed in a thick but steady stream right between her lips.

She stopped, swallowed, and smiled smugly. "It is good."

"Why are you so good at that?" Paris prodded suspiciously.

Her smile widened. "These bottles remind me of the wineskins my uncles and father used. Old Greek tradition. Just keep the pressure steady and it smoothes the flow."

"How did they know we were thirsty?" Tom asked abruptly.

"What?"

"They've never seen humans before so they don't know how we're supposed to look, so they couldn't know we look thirsty. But they knew we were thirsty and did something about it! How did they know?"

"Maybe they were just thirsty?" she ventured.

Paris turned a skeptical eye on their hosts. "Maybe. Or maybe they're doing a better job of learning our language than we are of learning theirs." He tilted the bottle and took another drink. More of the liquid made it into his mouth this time. He felt a sudden surge of energy. "Hey, this stuff is good. I feel better already."

"Maybe it's like a protein drink---high in nutrients. It really is thirst quenching," Shadow commented. She drank some more then set the bottle down on top of the music box as it stopped playing. They both stared at it for a moment.

"Is it getting warmer in here?" Paris asked suddenly.

Malista grinned at him. "I don't know. But I tell you one thing. I feel a lot better. I'm ready to dance. Let's go." She tugged the knife out of her waistband and put it down atop the console, next to their drinks and out of reach of the aliens. "This might get in the way."

"Yeah," Tom replied, nodding happily. "Let's crank up this music box and see what we can find."

"I don't care what you find on there. I want you to sing."

"Sing? Why?" Tom stepped back towards the machine, ready to fiddle with the controls.

"If I'm going to dance---you're going to sing!"

"Sing!!?"

"Hey, that stuff sounds like clicks to me," she remonstrated. "If it sounds like music to you, then you can sing it. Or hum, whistle, or scat it!"

"Oooookay," Tom drawled, listening to the 'music' and trying frantically to match it up with a song he knew the lyrics to or the songs he could at least make the sounds of the instruments to provide more music than just the clicking rhythm.

Unnoticed, the aliens had formed a circle around the humans, waiting patiently for their next move.

Paris knew, if he could get the right kind of music going, she would quickly become one with it. She'd told him that music always seemed to exhilarate and energize her, setting her spirit free in ways that she would normally never express. That's what Harry should do to loosen her up. Take her dancing. He'd suggest that if---when they got back to the ship.

"You may have to get really creative. I don't know how to select the kind of music you want. I've seen you dance in your warm-ups. Just do whatever feels right."

"Whenever you start singing." She stretched and waited for her cue.

"Any requests?" he teased.

"How about something that starts slow and builds? Something slinky."

Tom's eyebrows flew up. "Slinky? Oooookay. I can do slinky."

"How about that song Sue Nicoletti played on her oboe at the last concert? That classical thing." As she spoke, Shadow moved to the center of the room and began to stretch. The circle of aliens surrounding her mirrored her every move. They seemed much more interested in her movements than in Tom's relative stillness.

"Bolero? By Ravel? That doesn't have words," Paris protested.

"So hum it or make up some words," Shadow ordered impatiently. She stretched her hands high over her head and stood up straight, waiting for him to begin.

Feeling a little foolish, the lieutenant nonetheless began humming. She began with slow, gradual movements of her fingers, then hands, then wrists. It was something like ballet, something like a gymnastics routine designed to demonstrate the function and flexibility of the human body and its joints. As Tom knew she would, Malista quickly became so absorbed in the dance that she forgot the circumstances. He increased the volume of his 'music' and settled back to take the role of appreciative audience.

An observer would have thought she was there specifically to teach the small aliens the dance steps. She watched their efforts to duplicate her moves and repeated several until the aliens were successful. As the music built, she began to incorporate larger, swooping moves into her performance. It was almost a challenge dance. The aliens began to add their own moves which she duplicated.

Laughing lightly with sheer exuberance, Malista tore the tie from her hair, tossing her head back and forth to enjoy the sense of freedom as the black waves swirled around her face. With a sound that was almost a purr, she arched and rippled her body from fingertips to toes in an undulating motion that caused Tom to swallow very hard. He recognized that move. He'd seen green Orion women dance in that manner. Paris wondered if B'Elanna would ever dance like that for him. Maybe Malista could give her lessons? Better not even to think about it. Not now.

If Malista were wearing a proper costume rather than the ragged remains of her uniform.....Harry would be totally blown away. Tom grinned as he imagined the look on his best friend's face.

He gulped again as she repeated the move twice more with a sensual emphasis that was all the more fascinating because she wasn't being deliberately provocative. He couldn't believe this was the self-conscious Malista Shadow. She was so---uninhibited.

Tom reached for the bottle to relieve his suddenly reawakened thirst. For a moment, Shadow looked decidedly dangerous as she moved with cat-like grace demonstrating her litheness and agility. Springing into a leap and landing lightly on her feet, she crouched for a moment then bounced up, stretched out her arms, and went into a spin, a feral smile showing the gleam of white teeth. Feral? With that black hair, those glinting green eyes---panther-like was a more apt description.

That word picture inspired Tom with an idea. But revenge on those who'd been harassing Malista could wait until they got back to the ship. His glimmer of creative vengeance could only be enhanced by the addition of Delaney duplicity to the mix.

"Tom! Let's pick up the pace!" She shouted as she spun in a graceful circle and encouraged her audience with gestures to join her. The small aliens complied with clumsy but energetic movements. "Something faster!" She ran to his side, snatched up her own liquid refreshment and polished off the contents. It filled her with energy that quickly spread a tide of warmth to every part of her body. Even her toes tingled. Her eyes sparkled as she seized Tom's arm and dragged him into the center of the circle of dancing aliens.

He began to laugh. He vaguely wondered why everything in the room seemed to be so much brighter, so much more clearly defined, but shrugged it off and turned his attention to his giggling 'sister' who was demanding his participation.

"Okay. How about a bar song?" He threw one arm around her waist, grabbed her other hand and hoarsely crowed, "Belly up, belly up to the bar, boys! Better loosen your belts! Only drink when you're all alone or with somebody else!"

Singing at the top of his lungs, straining his voice but uncaring, he proceeded to lead the group into a dance that was a cross between a polka and a gallop around the room, with a few high kicks thrown in for good measure.

He became adventurous and tried lifting her. She smacked his arm when he almost dropped her while attempting the third lift in as many minutes. He twirled Malista around like a top and they fell against each other laughing as she grew dizzy. It was becoming increasingly difficult to laugh, breathe, sing, and dance simultaneously and the temperature of the room seemed to be rising steadily. Or perhaps it was just their exertions that were making them both perspire so much?

The little aliens romped through the steps with untiring enthusiasm though they lacked the skill and coordination of their human companions.

A quiet hissing sound and a hint of movement snapped them all to attention as a door panel slid open. Two of the large aliens loomed in the doorway.

Every moving body in the room screeched to a complete and undignified halt, human and alien alike.

Tom Paris blinked owlishly at the intrusion.

No one moved or spoke for approximately thirty seconds.

Paris sighed with exaggerated sadness. "Ooops. Party's over. Daddy's home." He blinked again as his brain caught up with his mouth. He turned his gaze on Malista as his eyes lit up.

She panted, trying to catch her breath as she gaped at him, staring from the large aliens to the small ones now crowded around the two humans. "You think?" she gasped.

A delighted smile blossomed on the lieutenant's face. He snickered.

****************

The senior staff, with the notable exception of Tom Paris, had once again reassembled in the briefing room. "The inertial dampers are online. Guidance control is optimal. Shields are fully restored. We're ready for another try whenever you are, Captain," Torres summarized tersely. "*Now* can we make another attempt?"

Before anyone could comment further, the intruder alert sounded simultaneously with the appearance of the bright white light of the alien transporter.

Tom Paris and Malista Shadow materialized standing atop the center of the briefing room table.

Malista's knife, the protective eyewear The Six had been wearing when transported to the planet, and the various boots that had been discarded or lost along the way were lying in a neat pile near their feet.

Those seated around the table stared for a moment in surprise at the sudden return of the two lost crewmembers. At first glance, it seemed Paris and Shadow were holding each other up as if unable to maintain their balance unsupported. They leaned against one another with arms around each other and panted for breath as if they'd just run a marathon. The two of them looked disheveled, sweaty, and tired, but appeared to be uninjured.

Tom's blue eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. "Damn, I wish they'd give a guy some warning before they do that," he muttered, his usual smooth tenor sounding raspy. His free hand went to his temple. "Owwwwwwww. My head hurts."

"Did you click your heels three times?" Malista accused breathlessly, then quickly covered her mouth with the fingertips of one hand as a hiccup escaped. Paris didn't waste his own breath on answering that cryptic question.

As if too exhausted to bear her weight any longer, Tom loosened his grip and allowed Malista to slither down the length of his body to the tabletop in a controlled fall before dropping to his own knees beside her. Malista's breathing was forced and uneven as she landed on all fours, shaking her head as if trying to clear it.

Before anyone else could react, the ever proper, Mr. Correct Starfleet Protocol, Ensign Harry Kim stood, scooped Crewman Shadow off the tabletop, and reseated himself holding the young woman firmly cradled in his lap. He wordlessly hugged her tightly to his body and buried his face in her neck muttering indistinguishable words of sheer relief.

"Harry?" Malista's muffled and astonished voice could barely be heard by the others. "Angel?"

Ensign Kim failed to respond audibly but his arms tightened around her.

Bringing her own arms up and around the ensign's neck, Shadow snuggled into his embrace even as she protested, "Harry, Angel, I'm all sweaty."

"Hush, Cookie." Kim tightened his grasp again, only easing up when he felt her gasp for air.

Chakotay and Torres jumped to their feet and assisted Paris in climbing off the table.

He lurched towards the chief engineer and managed to snag an arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him with a loopy grin. "Hi, 'Lanna! Miss me?"

Torres snarled at him. "Megan Delaney said you almost got yourself killed!"

"They're back on the ship?!" Paris chirped brightly. "Awwww, she 'xagerated. Don't believe her."

Neelix gaped at the pilot. "He's drunk!"

"I think you mean they---we are---" With a shaky sigh, Malista gave up on what she intended to say. Correcting Neelix's impression wasn't as important as returning her attention to soothing Ensign Kim, who was still holding onto her as if not totally convinced she'd returned or that she wouldn't disappear again. "Mmm. You smell good, Angel," she purred and nibbled at the back of his ear.

Mr. Kim blushed furiously and grabbed her free hand which was attempting to snake down the neck of his uniform to reach bare skin. Fortunately, she didn't seem to resent his restraining her. If anything, it seemed to motivate her to be even more creative in the use of her mouth---and teeth which were now nibbling his neck and earlobes as if he were the main course of her next meal. Malista's sudden lack of inhibitions had the potential for causing serious discomfiture for both of them.

"If by 'drunk' you mean inebriated or suffering from overindulgence in the ingestion of alcohol or other fermented beverages, there are at least seven other alternative explanations for Mr. Paris' and Ms Shadow's apparent incapacitation," Tuvok said pedantically. From the speaking look cast his way by the captain, the Vulcan concluded that no one was interested in hearing him expound on the subject. He raised an eyebrow but fell silent.

"Fermented?" Tom's words were slurred as he blinked, trying to get Tuvok's appearance to focus into a more defined image. He was sure there was really only one Tuvok despite what his eyes were telling him. "Oh. That must be it. Hey, Sis! That juice they gave us was fermented. No wonder---Hey, we have to tell the Doc we found some real jungle juice!" He chortled, then caught his breath in a loud hiccup. His eyes widened as if astonished at the sound, then he grinned again.

"Let's get them to Sickbay," Chakotay suggested, latching onto Tom's arm as the pilot swung it widely in an expansive gesture towards Malista Shadow that almost smacked the first officer in the face. Tom just smiled at his commander genially as if pleased to see him. That was a definite first.

At the sound of Tom's voice, Malista lifted her head, blurrily seeking to identify the other occupants of the room. The moment her eyes lit with recognition on Kathryn Janeway, she became slightly agitated. Sitting up a little from Harry's embrace, she waved a beckoning hand vaguely in the captain's direction. "C-c-captain. Captain. Captain!" she called with increasing urgency.

Torn between amusement and surprise, Janeway stepped towards her, bending to peer into her slightly unfocused green eyes. "Yes, Ms. Shadow?"

Malista's brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. "I'm s'posed to---I need to---uh, Tom." Receiving no response, she raised her voice. "TOM!"

Distracted from his efforts to tug one arm free of Chakotay's grasp and his attempt to wrap both arms around B'Elanna, Paris spun, staggered, and wound up draped face down over the back of a chair, hands flat on the table in front of him. "What?!" he demanded imperiously as he raised his head to stare at Shadow.

"What did I want to talk to the captain about?" Malista pleaded earnestly.

His expression went blank. "What? I don't know. Can't remember." He tried unsuccessfully to straighten and locate Torres. "B'Ella, beautiful B'Ella! Where are you?" he wheedled. With a disconcertingly swift change, he snapped his attention back to Malista and announced, "Apology." He grinned as if supremely self-satisfied that he'd come up with an answer for her, then shook his head warily. He was slightly confused to find that the room was apparently getting taller. And possibly starting to rotate? He squinted at the far wall of the room searching for a focal point.

Chakotay stepped up behind the pilot. He got his arms under Tom's, locked his hands on the taller man's chest, and hauled him upright as he showed every sign of slowly sinking to the floor. "Definitely Sickbay," the first officer huffed as he attempted to get Paris to stand or at least balance on his own feet until he could get a better grip on the taller man. The first officer shot a 'help me' look at Lieutenant Torres.

She held up both hands and backed away, carefully staying out of Paris' line of sight. She wasn't getting anywhere near Tom while he was under the influence. Not in public anyway. She knew from past experience the effect her presence would have. It would only increase his amorous mood and lead to embarrassment for both of them. Now if they were alone.....Maybe she could get him to his quarters before the effect wore off?

Tuvok stood up and came around the table to assist Chakotay with his armload of unsteady conn officer.

"Apology? Oh, yeah," Malista slurred. Following Starfleet protocol, she struggled to come to attention when addressing a superior officer, but didn't manage to accomplish it very well since she was still seated in Harry Kim's lap with one arm looped around his neck. "Cap'n, I want to apologize for my behavior this morning---was it this morning? Harry, Angel, was it this morning?"

Gray eyes twinkling, Janeway answered for the ensign. "Yes, Crewman Shadow, it was this morning. Apology accepted. We'll deal with everything else after your---situation has been dealt with. You need to go to Sickbay now. We'll talk later."

Harry Kim was amused by his besotted love's attempt at formality, but still overcome with relief at her safe return. He directed an apologetic look for his own unorthodox behavior toward the captain. To his relief, she nodded understandingly.

It took some effort and a good sense of balance, but the ensign managed to get out of his chair and up on his feet with Malista in his arms as he prepared to carry her to Sickbay if need be.

Slithering bonelessly out of Chakotay's and Tuvok's grasp, Paris hit the floor with a thump, sprawled, and began to laugh. "Hey, B'Ella! You look taller from down here."

Captain Kathryn Janeway sighed ruefully as she took off her commbadge and stuck it on Paris' chest. She activated it and said, "Transporter room. Mr. Paris is wearing my commbadge. Please lock onto it and to Mr. Kim's comm signal and transport three directly to Sickbay."

As the trio disappeared, Torres shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I can't wait to hear this debriefing."

******************

By the time Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Torres and Lieutenant Tuvok arrived in Sickbay a few minutes later, the doctor had a sleeping, shirtless Tom Paris lying face down on a biobed. The EMH was in the process of healing the numerous puncture marks along the lieutenant's spine. A concerned Torres went to stand next to the holodoctor, looking over his shoulder as he worked.

"Doctor?" The captain's tone requested a report.

"It seems that someone has been using Mr. Paris as a test subject," the holodoctor responded. "Tissue samples, fluid samples---beings of advanced technology, perhaps, but their grasp of medical procedures is questionable. They seemed to have used some form of 'hypodermic needles'," he explained indignantly. "Our science abandoned that particular brand of torture over----"

"Yes, Doctor. I understand. They used old fashioned methods," the captain interrupted. "How is he? How are they?" Her eyes traveled quickly around Sickbay seeking the other patient.

"Kes is helping Malista get cleaned up. Mr. Kim went to meet Mr. Neelix in the messhall and get them something to eat." The doctor answered the unspoken question first. "He seems to be fine. My preliminary scans showed no permanent damage to either of them. Mr. Paris is not unconscious. He fell asleep almost the moment we got him on the bed. They do seem to be exhausted, but I haven't been able to ascertain the cause. I have given each of them a dose of tricetylmylanacol. That will speed up the process of metabolizing the alcohol in their systems. There should be no side effects. They should be coherent and able to answer questions within a few minutes."

Malista teetered unsteadily into view. She was wearing blue Sickbay pajamas and leaning heavily on Kes' shoulder for balance. The Ocampan settled her much taller charge on a biobed a few feet from Tom's. Shadow winced as she eased up onto the bed and allowed herself to stretch out. "Ow. I'm so sore," she mumbled, not really complaining but analyzing her current health status.

Though he'd managed to ignore everyone else, Tom's eyes popped open at the sound of her voice and zeroed in on her location. "Why are *you* sore? I'm the one who got poked and prodded by inefficient alien doctors." He sounded perfectly sober now.

She frowned vaguely in his direction as her right hand went up to massage her left shoulder. "Zeus, Tom! I fell off a wall! I think it's natural to have a few sore spots."

"You didn't tell me you fell! You said you jumped!" Paris accused. Ignoring the doctor's attempts to keep him lying flat, he swung into a sitting position and glared at Shadow. "If you'd told me you'd fallen, I'd have been more careful, not let you exert yourself so much! Of all the irresponsible---"

"Oh, for crying out loud! How did you *think* I really got off the wall? There was a seismic disturbance, you nitwit!" she grumbled back irritably, returning his glare with a pout of her own. She sat up and swung her legs off the edge of the bed so she sat facing Paris.

Chakotay and Janeway exchanged amused glances. Something positive had occurred on that planet. Malista was no longer automatically deferring to Tom in order to avoid a confrontation. They were treating each other as equals. 'Equal siblings, at that,' Janeway thought. Their bickering reminded Kathryn forcefully of Phoebe and the way she and her sister had carried on when they got wound up about some trifling difference of opinion.

"What did I tell you? I told you not to---"

"I don't want to hear 'I told you so' from you. You don't know everything. You didn't know about the quakes---"

Kathryn Janeway cleared her throat. It was sufficient. Both parties subsided into a guilty silence for an instant. "Sorry, Captain," the pair chorused and exchanged sheepish glances.

Ensign Kim arrived with a tray and set it on the biobed next to Paris. Grabbing one of the purplish fruits they'd gathered during their tree climbing activities on Foster, he took it to Malista Shadow, leaving Tom to fend for himself. She scooted over, and mutely tugged on his arm.

With a glance at Janeway for permission, which was granted by a nod, Kim hopped up to sit next to Malista on the bed. He held onto the fruit when she tried to take it from him, offering it to her as if intent on feeding her himself. She smiled her thanks and took a bite, her eyes never leaving his as he fed her.

Torres, seeing that Tom was now sober and in control of himself and his libido, came around the biobed to stand next to him and make a visual inspection of his injuries herself. Paris grinned at her knowingly and snaked an arm around her waist. "I'm fine. Really." She selected a piece of fruit from the tree and offered it to him. His grin widened. "Now what does this remind me of?"

Unsure of what he was referring to, but distrusting the mischievous glint in his blue eyes, Torres settled for a glare rather than a verbal response. Using rather more force than was strictly necessary, she shoved the fruit between his lips. He clenched it in strong teeth and took a large bite, then captured the rest of it in his own hand.

Captain Janeway cleared her throat once more. Assured of being the center of attention, she fixed Tom with a steely gray glance. "I would like a report, Mr. Paris. We've heard from the other four away team members about the events leading up to their return. We'd like to hear what happened after that."

"Were you able to communicate with the aliens? Is that why they returned you to the ship?" Chakotay added.

Paris looked at Shadow to see if she wanted to offer an explanation of her own. Shadow returned his regard and with a hand gesture indicated he should answer.

Finishing up his snack, the lieutenant shook his head. "I wouldn't exactly call it communicating. At least, not two way communication. I'm glad to hear the other four made it back to Voyager. I wasn't sure where they went when they disappeared. I started off to look for Malista. When I found her, she was in a room......"

Fifteen minutes later, Janeway was shaking her head in bemusement. "Dancing? As a form of communication? Well, Mr. Paris, I've always said that you are an original."

"Of course, I did all the dancing," Shadow whispered to Harry, throwing a teasing look at Tom.

"Of course," Harry replied. "Tom let you do all the hard work. He tends to take advantage of you, you know."

"I resent that," Tom replied saucily. "I danced that last dance with you."

"You almost dropped me!" she retorted indignantly. "Don't ever dance with him, Harry. He's a klutz."

Tom shrugged. "I have no intention of dancing with Harry. Besides, it's not my fault you're heavier than you look---"

"Are you calling me 'fat'?" Her voice rose in indignation.

Eyeing her tall, slender form and wondering how she could even ask that question, Tom shook his head. "That's not what I said. I said---"

"Could we get back to the point?" Janeway said with mild exasperation. "The point at which the larger aliens made their reappearance?"

"Sorry, Captain," they said simultaneously, then each scowled at the other. This tandem speaking thing was getting to be annoying.

"So who were the larger aliens? Why were they larger?" Torres interjected. "Some kind of evolutionary divergence?"

"The larger aliens were the grownups," Paris said smugly. He paused for a moment, to let the others absorb that remarkable statement then continued, "The small aliens were evidently their children. When Malista fell off the wall, she landed in their day care center, for lack of a better description." He smirked.

"They must have had us under observation the whole time," Malista added. "I'm sure their security systems would have been designed to protect their children. Maybe it was just another test. To see how we'd react."

"And you reacted by teaching their children to dance?" Commander Chakotay's dimples were fighting hard to make an appearance. He'd taken the first contact training course at Starfleet Academy, but he'd never heard of anything quite this bizarre. "Exactly what kind of dancing were you doing, Malista?"

To the first officer's surprise, Shadow blushed a rosy red and tried to hide her face on Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyes flew to Tom's. Paris shrugged and waved a hand, indicating he would explain later. Harry's eyebrows flew up. He would hold Tom to that.

"Commander," Janeway said warningly. "I don't think that's relevant."

Hastily changing the subject to save Malista further embarrassment, Paris speculated, "I think when we couldn't understand their language---if that's what the colors and lights actually were---they tried to use some form of telepathy to communicate. But the adults weren't able to get a clear signal through. When they saw us interacting with the young ones, they must have seen that we managed to communicate sufficiently to get them to meet our needs. They didn't understand our language, but the kids picked up enough from us telepathically to know we were thirsty and to respond to that. The children seemed to be able to read us better. Maybe they were more on our wavelength. It was the children, not the adults, who figured out we were thirsty and provided us with, uh, refreshments."

"The *kids* got you drunk?" Torres raised her eyebrows suspiciously. She knew Tom's sense of humor occasionally got the better of him, but she didn't *think* he would joke around to this extent during an official report.

"I would speculate that the differences in physiology would play a part in the effect this so-called 'juice' had on Lieutenant Paris and Crewman Shadow," Tuvok stated firmly. "It is quite possible that the liquid refreshments were not intended to be intoxicating for the aliens who created it."

"At the time, it didn't matter. We were thirsty enough to drink leola root stew. We were that desperate. But the greatest thing about that jungle juice is there's no hangover," Paris remarked brightly. "Too bad we couldn't get trade negotiations going for some of that stuff. Stronger and more flavor than synthale---"

"Mr. Paris," Kathryn sighed. "Get on with your report."

"Yes, ma'am," the pilot replied, an impudent grin teasing at his lips. "Once the adults arrived, they seemed to be trying to use the children as translators. We went back and forth for about thirty minutes, but I never did get a definitive idea of what they were trying to say. Just general impressions."

The EMH finished healing the damage to the pilot's back and handed him a clean Sickbay pajama shirt. "Did you understand them better than I did, Sis?" Tom asked as he pulled the shirt over his head.

"It was sort of like talking baby talk or using word pictures," Malista said thoughtfully. She flinched when everyone's eyes turned towards her.

Harry bestowed an encouraging smile. "Go on. What did you think they were saying?"

Keeping her eyes on Harry, she continued, "Tom and I haven't had a chance to discuss it, but I think they were telling us we'd---Voyager, I mean, had trespassed in their territory."

"The planets in this system we were harvesting?" Kim asked.

Malista nodded, then turned her eyes back to Tom, hoping he would take over again. Her new found self-confidence was being stretched to its limits right now.

Paris was smiling in her direction. He tugged the waist of the shirt into place before returning his attention to the captain. "Yeah. That's the impression I got. They weren't exactly happy about it, but they didn't seem too upset."

"They just want us to go away," Shadow interjected impulsively. "That came through pretty clearly."

Tom nodded his agreement with her assessment. "I think Sven hit it on the head. We're so different from them that they weren't really sure if we were non-sentient animals or sentient beings. That's why the sampling, the testing, and the attempts to communicate."

"Then the satellites belong to them?" Chakotay mused. "They must have been intended as warning beacons."

"As I theorized when we first became aware of them," Tuvok stated blandly.

"Is that a Vulcan version of 'I told you so'?" Torres inquired of Paris, a twinkle in her brown eyes belying her serious expression.

He nodded sagely, throwing a teasing look toward the Head of Security. "I believe so. Is that what you mean, Tuvok?"

Kathryn Janeway sighed---loudly. When had she lost control of this debriefing? Again. This had to be the strangest....."Let me get this straight, Mr. Paris. The aliens have no hostile intent and no interest in interacting with us further. They just want us out of their territory?"

"Yes, ma'am. As I said, we didn't communicate all that plainly, but I believe that was the gist of it. Right, Sis?"

"Yes," Shadow replied.

"I'd like a written report from each of you on your perceptions. You may recall more details after you've gotten some rest." Janeway stepped closer to Malista, regarding her intently. "Crewman Shadow, we still have the matter of the sexual harassment charges to deal with."

Malista visibly flinched back into Harry's welcome embrace. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, slid off the biobed and came to attention in the prescribed Starfleet manner. "Yes, Captain?"

"I will not allow that kind of abuse to occur on a ship under my command, Crewman. I am seriously disturbed that you failed to report such behavior at once." Janeway's gray eyes studied the younger woman sternly. "Do you have an explanation to offer?"

Her eyes flew to Harry, then to Tom as if hoping they would answer for her. When no response was forthcoming, she took a deep breath and said, "Cowardice, ma'am. That's the only---"

"You are NOT---"

"That's not fair---" Both Kim and Paris began to argue at the same time.

"Gentlemen!" The whip crack of the captain's tone settled the issue. "This is not an open debate. I'm sure Ms. Shadow appreciates your supportiveness, but there are some things she must do for herself. And one of them is to take responsibility for her own actions---or lack of action." Assured of their continued silence, she said more gently, "Malista, you're tired and it's been a long, emotionally trying day. I think you should get some rest and tomorrow---at your earliest convenience---you may give

Lt. Tuvok a written report on the incidences of harassment. The report will, of course, name those responsible and give as much detail as you feel is necessary to convey the nature and severity of the abuse."

"Yes, ma'am," the younger woman whispered, then repeated the acknowledgment more firmly, her green eyes full of dread.

Janeway stretched out an arm and placed a reassuring hand on the taller woman's shoulder. "Try not to worry. We will handle this. There will not be a repeat of those incidents. The guilty parties will be punished."

At the captain's nod of dismissal, Harry Kim escorted Malista from the room, holding her so closely to his side it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. 'Those two are good for each other,' Janeway thought as she watched them with satisfaction.

"Captain," Tom said in a slow, contemplative drawl. "Have you given any thought to the nature of the punishment for these pigs?"

Kathryn's eyes met B'Elanna's. She closed one gray eye in a deliberate wink before rolling her eyes as she turned toward the pilot. "No, Mr. Paris. But I have the impression that you have given it some thought."

"Yes, ma'am," Tom said with what Torres felt to be an ominously dispassionate air. Paris was never more dangerous than when it seemed he wasn't up to anything.

"Do I want to know what you've been considering, Mr. Paris?" Janeway asked with excessive politeness.

Tom's blue eyes widened in transparent innocence. "Oh, yes, ma'am. But I think it can wait till tomorrow. I'd like to sleep on my ideas---and run them past the Delaney twins for their---input. Megan and Jenny are sure to have a---unique perspective on dealing with the issue." Those bright white teeth flashed in a smile that reminded those present of a Sagdarian Sand Shark.

At the mention of the Delaneys, Torres suppressed a shudder. If Tom was going to turn those two loose---! They all needed their rest. She tugged his arm, pulling him off the biobed. "Come on, Helmboy. Time for you to go beddy-bye. It's been a long day."

Allowing himself to be towed toward the exit, Tom asked, "Why, B'Ella, is that an invitation?"

The doors to Sickbay slid closed before those inside could hear the answer, but they did hear Tom's voice utter a loud, whiny "Owwwwwwww!".

******************

Tomorrow came a little sooner than Malista had been prepared for. She awoke starving, sore, and scared, not necessarily in that order of importance. A quick trip to the replicator solved the first problem, a hot shower took care of the second, but the third...

She didn't know where to begin. The captain had ordered her to file a report. She knew how to do that. She just didn't know if she had the nerve to actually put into words what had happened and how it had made her feel. The more she thought about it, the more she didn't want to even attempt it on her own. She needed help.

Asking Harry or Tom was out of the question. While it was comforting to know they wouldn't blame her for being the victim, she'd find herself constantly censoring her words in order to avoid upsetting them. Well, upsetting them more than they were already. If they heard the details, especially knowing that the harassment had NOT stopped at words and looks....If they knew it had gotten very close to assault....

Malista shuddered, staring once more at the blank datapadd. She didn't want either of them to lose his temper and get in trouble because of her. So who could she ask for help?

B'Elanna.

'Of course. B'Elanna is my friend,' Malista told herself. 'And B'Elanna won't lose her temper as easily as Tom or Harry under these circumstances. She's a beautiful woman. She's probably dealt with this kind of thing before. She won't take my being attacked as personally as the guys would. Will she? No, of course not. '

So Malista called B'Elanna and asked for her help in preparing a report for Tuvok. Lieutenant Torres, sounding not at all surprised at the request, invited Malista to come to her quarters where they could work undisturbed.

******************

Crewman Shadow rapidly discovered that she had seriously underestimated Lt. Torres' reaction to the news that one of 'her' engineering staff had been the victim of harassment, not only during her personal time, but also while she was on duty---under Torres' supervision.

They were both handling the subject matter fairly well while Malista was describing the minor events. It was a different matter entirely when she described the incident in the Biology Lab. The first burst of Klingon temper almost sent Shadow fleeing from the room. Torres was so furious that merely trying to form words to express her fury almost choked her.

Malista waited until B'Elanna had regained some control---or at least had stopped cursing fluently in Klingon. When she continued, out of habit, Shadow tried to minimize what had happened and its effect on her.

Quickly realizing what was going on, Torres refused to let her. "Malista, I want you to put down every leer, every sneer, every insulting remark. Just this once and then you'll never have to deal with it again."

"But why are you so angry?"

The meek tone of voice caught at Torres and brought her eyes back to the taller woman. B'Elanna knew she had to make it clear that it was not Malista that had just become an endangered species. "Because I should have known. I should have seen something was wrong. Especially when it began to interfere with you doing your job! No, I *did* know something was wrong and I didn't do anything about it."

"B'Elanna, it wasn't your fault. I didn't tell you anything," Malista protested. "Tom says it's not my fault either. It theirs. The ones who did this. He says the only thing I did wrong was not making it clear to them that I wasn't interested. I didn't say 'No' with conviction and make it stick. So you shouldn't feel guilty. Don't take blame that isn't yours."

Torres laughed reluctantly. "Helmboy sure has been spreading that little proverb around, hasn't he? Okay. We'll make a deal. You put down every grimy detail. I'll get as ticked off as I want, but I'll take it out on the furniture. Call it my way of venting. But you don't let it intimidate you or make you change what you need to say. Deal?"

"Deal." Malista grinned at the shorter woman. Maybe Torres had a point about venting her wrath on inanimate objects. Maybe she would try it herself. Later.

Three hours later, the report was finished.

Malista Shadow was drying her eyes.

Very few breakable objects remained unbroken in B'Elanna's quarters. Smashed pieces of pottery, plastic, and glass littered the floor like leaves fallen from a tree.

"Ready to go to the Security Office?" Torres inquired, casually wiping a bit of blood off one scraped knuckle with a clean cloth.

Shadow spared a glance for the debris around them.

"Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up later," B'Elanna remarked.

"We'll clean it up," Malista corrected. They exchanged grins of mutual understanding, a moment of rare rapport between two women with very different backgrounds and personalities.

******************

The Security Office was not meant to hold quite so many people. It was filled to capacity, except for the brig, when Torres and Shadow arrived. Lt. Tuvok and Ensign Mikel Hudson were the only ones who were actually supposed to be there.

When Malista hesitated in the doorway, B'Elanna nudged her forward as she sent a brown-eyed glare around the room at Tom Paris, Harry Kim, Ethan Simms, the Delaney twins, and Ensign George Natwick. Shadow advanced toward the desk, padd in hand, trying to pretend the others smiling encouragement at her were invisible.

Lt. Tuvok stood to accept the report. "Thank you, Crewman Shadow. Do you have anything you wish to add verbally to your written report?"

"No, sir. I think---uh, I think it's all in there," she mumbled, blushing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

"Okay. What's going on?" Torres demanded.

The occupants of the room turned their eyes toward Tom Paris. He lifted his hands in helpless innocence. "Nothing, B'Elanna. We were just---discussing possible sentences for those found guilty of sexual harassment. Just an objective, hypothetical discussion, you know?"

"Uh-huh. Sure. And what conclusions have you reached?" Torres matched his innocuous tone perfectly, though her expression of impassivity could have used some work to make it more convincing.

For some reason no one in the room, including Harry Kim, wanted to meet Malista's apprehensive green eyes. She looked to Lt. Tuvok who was busily reading her report. He glanced up. "Under the circumstances, I believe the captain will assign the guilty parties to work additional shifts performing the more unpleasant duties necessary to ensure the smooth functioning of the ship. At her discretion she may also reduce privileges and restrict them to their quarters for a specified period of time."

"But, we ask ourselves," Tom began philosophically. "Is that enough? "

"And you answer yourselves?" Torres asked, beginning to be amused.

"No!!" The word was spoken in unison by everyone present except Tuvok and Shadow.

"Does anyone really believe those options are enough to impress upon the minds of these dishonorable, despicable dastards that their behavior is totally unacceptable and will not be tolerated?" Paris was on a roll now. The words flowed from his lips like those of an expert orator. "Will restriction of privileges, loss of replicator rations, and doing disgusting duties, sufficiently make the point that we are absolutely furious that they would take advantage of the gentle nature of my sister and certain other women aboard this ship whom we consider as family members or treasured friends? That we are disgusted and repelled by their behavior?" He looked around as if gathering support.

It was a futile gesture. He was preaching to the choir here. No one needed to be persuaded to agree with his point of view.

The only possible dissenter was Lt. Tuvok, who was listening intently out of fascinated intellectual curiosity concerning Mr. Paris' rationale and methodology for his proposed course of action.

The victim herself was staring at Paris with dawning dismay. "Oh, Zeus, Tom! *What* are you planning to do?"

"He's just being dramatic, Malista. Tuvok isn't going to let him kill anyone. Or even inflict permanent damage," Torres said. Her words might have been more comforting if they hadn't sounded tinged with regret.

"Sis, we talked about this before. *You* have to confront these guys. If anyone else does it for you, it won't stick. Well, maybe it would if we pounded them, which I personally find an appealing option," Paris admitted, "but it would still mean you weren't ready to defend yourself so this kind of thing could happen to you again." After a momentary pause, Tom said quietly. "You told me you didn't want to find yourself caged again, having to be escorted everywhere to feel safe. You have to tell them no and make them believe you mean it."

Harry Kim came forward and put his arms around Shadow. "No one is going to get hurt, Malista. We just want to teach them a lesson. One they won't forget. The captain has even approved this scheme of Tom's. In fact, she said she wants a front row seat."

She rested her head on Kim's shoulder and sighed her relief. Too soon.

Tom and the Delaneys began to explain their plan to her.

The only words Shadow spoke for the next hour were, "Oh, no. I can't do this." They began as a moan, crescendoed into a shout at one point, and slowly morphed into a mortified murmur repeated at intervals whenever a new idea was proposed or explained in more detail.

It took a combination of charm, persuasion, and emotional blackmail by all of the schemers to get Malista Shadow to even agree to attempt to implement their plot. But she did agree. Eventually.

Then the conspirators split into three different groups to carry out their assignments to make the plan come together. The Delaneys and Natwick escorted Malista to her quarters. Harry Kim, B'Elanna Torres, and Tom Paris went to the holodeck to make some program adjustments. Ensigns Simms and Hudson began their surveillance and monitoring of the whereabouts and activities of Lt. Laro Longoria and Crewman Paul Castelle until their presence was required on the holodeck, at which time the two Security men would ensure their attendance.

***********

"This is taking forever," Paris complained. "Where is she?"

B'Elanna sent him a sour look and pushed him back onto the bleacher. "Sit down and be quiet. The Delaneys called in a few minutes ago. If you knew how much work it took to get her to plan what she was going to say and then all the fuss about wearing the costume, you wouldn't be complaining."

"Hey, I did my part!" Tom protested.

"Are you sure no one can see us?" Harry Kim asked anxiously. "You checked out the

holo-image from the other side, right?"

Torres let out a hiss of exasperation. "Of course, I checked it. Anyone on the holodeck isn't going to see anything but a curtain hanging over this part of the bleachers. There's no way they'll even know we're here---if you two can keep quiet! Captain, can't you keep them under control?"

Kathryn Janeway, seated at Tom's left side on the front row of the hidden bleacher section, shook her head. "Oh, no, Lieutenant. Officially, I'm not here." Her gray eyes twinkled first at Torres, then at Chakotay, seated on her right.

The first officer laid a finger vertically over his lips. "I'm not here either," he whispered.

Lt. Tuvok, seated on the other side of the commander, raised one eyebrow. "Those are illogical statements. Unless you are speaking metaphysically---"

Janeway leaned forward to look across Chakotay at her Head of Security. "Tuvok, officially we aren't here at all. Unofficially, I want to see if Malista can handle this. You know we have no objective evidence of the sexual harassment charges that can be substantiated. They made sure there were never any witnesses when they accosted her and the computer messages are so well buried and rerouted throughout the comm system, they're next to impossible to trace. If we held a formal hearing, it would come down to Malista's word as opposed to their account of the events. So if we can persuade them to incriminate themselves---"

"Evidence elicited through entrapment---" Tuvok began.

"It's not entrapment," Chakotay announced flatly. "They know that the holodecks are a public forum unless specifically reserved for private use. To use the proper legal jargon, they should have no reasonable expectation of privacy which precludes any objection to there being witnesses to this encounter with or without their consent. Besides, they'll be in full view of the security team the whole time. If they're stupid enough to incriminate themselves, we'll take advantage of it. If not, this confrontation, assuming it's successful, will raise Malista's self-esteem and solve the problem without our 'official' intervention."

"I still don't see why I can't be out there where----" Harry began for the fourteenth time in twenty minutes.

"Because that's not the plan," Torres snarled impatiently. "She'd start looking at you and forget her lines. Or worry about what you're thinking about what she's saying. And you HAVE to stay QUIET! Remember, she thinks we're monitoring this from the Security Office. We DON'T want her to know we're here so she'll handle it herself!"

"Well, where is she?" Tom reiterated for the twelfth time in the SAME twenty minutes.

B'Elanna turned her fiery scowl on him. She was about to lose all patience with both Tom and Harry and blast them both verbally, when she heard the entrance to the holodeck hiss open. "The Delaneys are here."

"Where's Malista?" The question came from four directions at once as the breathless redheaded sisters slid behind the concealing curtain and climbed up the bleachers to seat themselves on the third row up.

"George is bringing her," Jenny snapped irritably. "She almost flaked out on us again. That girl has NO backbone!"

Tom, Harry, and B'Elanna bridled defensively at that remark, but before they could respond, Megan Delaney contradicted her sister. "Yes, she does. You should have seen her standing eye to eye and toe to toe with---"

Megan's hand flew to her mouth as she immediately suppressed what she intended to say. For all her famed lack of discretion, she had managed to avoid describing the Paris/Shadow confrontation on the planet. And now? Now she almost let it slip in front of the captain, the first officer...Damn! Everyone was staring at her.

"So where are Malista and Natwick?" Harry Kim insisted.

Jenny, covering for her sister's loss of composure, quickly replied, "She started trying to back out again. George was telling her about something called ---what was it, Meg? bush something."

"Bushido," supplied a subdued Megan . "Something to do with honor and fighting, I think."

"What? What the hell does that have to do---" Paris began.

"I told you. She was trying to back out of the whole thing. George was trying to convince her that she has to defend her name and fight back. He was trying to get her to agree that this is a matter of honor," Jenny explained.

"Was he making any progress?" Torres asked sardonically. She didn't think so. Her own mother had never had much luck appealing to B'Elanna's sense of family honor in order to gain her obedience or compliance in following Klingon traditions.

"I don't think so," Megan sighed. "She may be sweet and easy-going, but she sure can be hard-headed. You think it's a family characteristic, Tom? Oh. Sorry. I forgot. She's not really your sister." Torres stared at the redhead disbelievingly. Megan ignored the chief engineer and continued, "Anyway, she totally refused to wear the dancing girl costume we provided. She's been dragging her heels all the way. She said she'll confront them, but she's not letting us use the hologram of her dancing after all. She says she'll let us make a recording of her dancing later. In private. For Harry's eyes only. I'll be surprised if she doesn't just cancel the whole thing while she's at it. Or tell George to tell us she's not going through with it."

"Maybe I should go check on them?" Ensign Kim suggested, bounding to his feet. Inaction and not knowing what was going on was driving him insane by degrees. Harry told himself he was merely concerned. Maybe he'd caught the overprotective bug from Tom? He certainly was not jealous because Malista was alone with another man. Even if it was the one man who had almost seduced her once before in a vulnerable moment. There was no need for him to feel threatened. Of course not.

Torres snagged Kim's arm and thrust him back towards the bleachers. "Leave them alone. I think they may have some issues they need to deal with before Malista is ready to deal with this one."

"George will get her here. He knows she has to do this," Jenny insisted.

"Besides," her twin added, "George seems to have a calming effect on her."

Not comforted in the slightest, Harry Kim threw a discomfited glance at Megan, and gauged his chances of getting past B'Elanna to the exit-and concluded he had absolutely no chance at all. He finally faded reluctantly back into place on the bleacher to wait impatiently, though he bounced his feet incessantly in an attempt to work off excess energy.

"I have every confidence in Mr. Natwick's ability to carry out his assignment," Tuvok stated firmly. "He is quite competent in his duties as a Security Officer."

"Oh, that sterling reference alone makes me feel so-o-o-o much better," Tom drawled, but subsided under the steel gray glance of his captain. They all settled down to await the arrival of the most important participant in the planned scenario.

***********

"George, I can't fight for my family honor if I don't have any!" Malista shouted. She looked for all the world like a trapped kitten. She'd backed herself into the corner of her room nearest the door and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt terribly self-conscious being alone with him in her quarters while wearing her circus tights and robe. Somehow it felt odd. Awkward. It was strange but she'd never felt quite so exposed when she wore this costume in her circus program on the holodeck.

"Any family? Or any honor?" Natwick wasn't sure he understood her response.

"Either. Both. My father disowned me," she confessed miserably.

Natwick, arms crossed over his massively muscular chest, just stared down at her for a moment wearing his most stoic expression. He didn't try to close the distance between them. She might bolt. 'Okay,' he thought dispassionately. 'Screw the honor code approach. Time for a new angle.'

"Malista, do you remember when you knocked me on my butt?"

That caught her attention all right. He could tell that she had immediately stopped her internal preparation of arguments to counter his 'code of honor' rationale. She frowned at him, thrown by the sudden change in subject. "Do I remember---of course, I remember---George! Did I ever apologize? I meant to---"

"As a matter of fact, you did, but then you told me I deserved it. And you were right, but not for the reason you thought."

Now he had her. Her interest was engaged and she immediately became less defensive and self-conscious. Her arms dropped to her sides as she took a step towards him, frowning even more deeply as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. "Why? What do you mean?"

"Malista, WHY did you knock me down in that self-defense class? YOU got violent. With ME." His voice revealed that he still wasn't quite over his own astonishment. "I'm taller than you. I'm heavier than you. And, God knows, I have more training than you do! Since I was seventeen and began my training at Starfleet Academy, and all throughout my Starfleet career, up until that moment, no one---NO ONE---had ever managed to knock me flat like that. Why do you suppose that is?" Natwick felt almost out of breath. That was probably the greatest total number of sentences he'd strung together in months, except for when he was teaching. Or talking to Malista Shadow. Damn. Something about this woman always made him behave uncharacteristically. Now, she was turning him into a blabbermouth! But if it would help her.....

She hesitated, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. "Uh, I caught you by surprise?"

"You did that," he agreed, shaking his head. "But that just tells me why you succeeded. I didn't expect your reaction. That and the fact that I underestimated you. I didn't think you had the aggressive instincts to come after me. I thought you'd take the chance I offered you to give Kim a few bruises and feel better for doing it. I'm usually pretty good about judging the students in my classes. A lot of people may not like my methods, but they work and that means those I teach learn to defend themselves and don't get themselves killed needlessly. But you never answered my original question. Why?"

"Why what?" She drew closer, not noticing that he had been steadily walking backwards until he seated himself on the couch. It felt awkward to remain standing so she sat down but remained bolt upright in the armchair facing him. She was not ready to lower her guard, suspecting a verbal trap of some kind and trying to prepare herself for it.

"Why did you attack me?" His tone was accusatory.

"I didn't *attack* you!" she protested breathlessly, looking positively horrified at his interpretation of the event.

He rubbed his stomach in the exact place she'd struck him with the end of the plastic pipe during the confrontation. "Didn't feel like a love pat," Natwick said shortly. "You knocked me flat on my back in front of the whole self-defense class. Which didn't help my reputation any."

Now Shadow was thoroughly confused. The big man didn't seem angry. He was just stating facts. She didn't understand what he was getting at. "George, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"No, you shouldn't apologize. That's my point," he said patiently, fastening deep brown eyes on hers. "Did you attack me for a reason? Or just for fun?"

"No, of course it wasn't for fun. I didn't mean to hurt you," she began earnestly, but then forced herself to be honest. "Well, not exactly. But you were trying to set Harry up to take a beating in that class! For no reason at all."

The muscular Security Officer's mouth twisted in a half-smile. "Oh, I had a reason. It just didn't prove to be valid. I was attracted to you, Malista. Even then," he added as she shook her head in automatic denial. "Yes, even then with you trying to hide your beauty. Even with you trying to disappear behind Kim every time I got close. I found you attractive and I took entirely the wrong approach to try to get your attention. Flexing my muscles always worked before." He held up his right arm and sent a ripple through the biceps and across his pectorals in demonstration. "But it didn't with you."

"Oh, George." Her green eyes were filled with compassion. "I didn't know. I didn't understand." She wouldn't have believed any man could possibly have found her attractive then. To find out that she had not one, but two admirers amazed her.

"I know." He forgave and dismissed all her transgressions with a rueful smile. "I went at you like a charging targ. By the time I realized I needed to change my methods, it was too late. Kim already had you on his hook and halfway to reeled in." He held up a hand to stop her next comment. He was afraid, from the look in her eyes, that it would be a compliment inspired by pity. He was strong and could stand a lot of things, but being pitied was not one of them. "But get back on track here. WHY did you attack me?"

"You were trying to hurt Harry," she answered simply. "And using me to do it." Her jaw clenched in remembered anger.

"On two different occasions you refused to 'use' me. Once to beat up Harry for you and the other to teach you about sex," Natwick commented, steadfastly ignoring Malista's mortified blush. "Is that some kind of issue for you? You don't want to use people or be used by them?"

"Well, of course---"

"There's no 'of course' about it, woman!" the big man snarled. "Not everyone shares that point of view. Obviously. Why do you think Longoria and Castelle were harassing you? And some of the other Maquis women?"

"I don't know." Shadow tried to bounce out of the chair, but Natwick leaned forward and blocked her way. "I didn't know about the others. I thought it was just me. I thought---"

"You thought you deserved it? You thought you did something that caused them to treat you like a Risan pleasure girl?"

She didn't reply. Her body sank back into the chair, trying to retreat from his words.

Her green eyes darted away from his face, fixing in a stare at her clasped and wringing hands. "Didn't I?" Her expression was a confused mixture of anger and embarrassment, with a measure of self-disgust thrown in.

"What could you possibly have done that would merit that kind of treatment?" Natwick demanded exasperatedly. "Did you encourage them? Did you flirt with them? Did you take off your clothes and run naked down the corridors?"

"No!" Malista exclaimed in fierce denial. Then a thought seemed to occur to her. "I don't think I encouraged them. At least, not deliberately. But then I'm pretty stupid when it comes to things like that. I didn't think I had done anything to make YOU think I was attractive either. I must have done something!"

Natwick was floored by her assumption. He remained silent for a moment while he pondered a counterstrike. She stared back at him. From the look in her eyes, he judged that she was waiting to be convinced she was wrong. And HE was supposed to do the convincing? Damn.

He closed his eyes as he brought one large hand up to massage his temples. "I hate to think you've put me in the same category as those two. I took 'no' for an answer if you'll remember. Above and beyond the call of duty in your quarters that night. For that alone, I should get a medal!" He sighed heavily. "You really don't know much about men, do you, darlin'?"

She refused to answer verbally, shrugging as she studied her fingertips and worried her lower lip between her teeth.

With a heavy sigh, Natwick plunged into the fray once more. "Malista, back in Texas my dear old Daddy used to say there are two kinds of men---gentlemen and hound dogs. Do you know how you tell the difference?"

Eyes rounding, she shook her head.

"A gentleman is a man who treats every woman as if she is a lady, until she proves herself otherwise. Hound dogs treat every woman like a tramp regardless of her behavior." That said, Natwick leaned back against the sofa and let her ponder his meaning.

After a moment, she tentatively ventured, "Are you trying to say that Longoria and Castelle treated me that way, not because of what I may have done, but because that's the way they treat all women?"

The big man nodded slowly. "More or less. That's the way they treat all women when they think they can get away with it. You'll notice they didn't try their tricks with Captain Janeway. Or B'Elanna Torres. Or Susan Nicoletti, come to think of it. Because they are cowards, Malista. Their behavior was as much about power and control as it was about sex. They only picked on women who wouldn't fight back---"

"Wait a minute! There's something wrong with your theory there! What about Henley? She's a Maquis and she doesn't run from anyone. If they only pick on cowards like me, why did---"

"You are not a coward," Natwick insisted, meeting her eyes with a demanding glare. "As for their plan of attack, don't ask me to explain it. I think they underestimated Henley's reaction. Or they'd grown arrogant and careless because they'd been getting away with it so long---"

"Then it's my fault, isn't it?"

Natwick growled deep in his throat. "Woman! You'd probably try to take credit for the Borg invasion of the Alpha Quadrant if you could find a way to rationalize it!"

Malista bit back a giggle of surprise. "I don't think I'm quite that bad, George. Tom said that the only thing I did wrong was to let it go on. I should have tried to do something about their comments and behavior when it started, instead of hiding and evading and hoping it would all go away."

"Paris may be brighter than I've given him credit for," Natwick allowed grudgingly.

Malista's hand flew up to cover her mouth, trying to hide a sudden grin.

"What?" he demanded, one eyebrow up in inquiry.

"Tom said the same thing about you," she confessed, trying unsuccessfully to hide her amusement.

"Yeah, well, that's flattering. Paris and I do have one thing in common. You. We both want what's best for you so we're working together on this. But just don't expect us to become best buddies, okay?" the big man grumbled. "He's right about one thing though. Things got worse because you didn't stand up to them right away. The way you reacted made them feel powerful."

"But I don't understand why they would do this. Not just why did they do it to me, but why act this way at all?" Malista gazed up at him, hoping for an explanation that she could comprehend intellectually, if not emotionally.

"If you asked those guys why they treated you so badly, they would make up all kinds of reasons and possibly try to blame it on you. They'd say something about the way you dressed or the way you reacted. Or that you didn't make it clear enough that you weren't interested in playing their games. The sad thing is that they may not even think they were acting with malice. They think their behavior is acceptable. They enjoyed terrorizing you because you allowed it. Longoria and Castelle are bullies and cowards. You ever see the play 'Man and Superman' by George Bernard Shaw?"

Malista shook her head.

"There's a line in the third act that goes 'Man gives every reason for his conduct save one, every excuse for his crimes save one, every plea for his safety save one; and that one is his cowardice.' That's the real reason. They probably have no idea how much you were hurt by their actions and they'd say it was all just a game. But it wouldn't be the *truth*, Malista," he insisted. "If we checked with other women on the ship, we'd probably find they'd tried the same abuse with others, but ran in the opposite direction when confronted or called on their behavior. What I don't understand is why *you* aren't mad at them! You aren't, are you?"

"Uh...." She stammered and cleared her throat, but didn't produce one complete word.

"I was watching you in the Security Office. The only reason you plan to try this harebrained plot of Tom's was to make him happy. Because Paris, Kim, and the others coerced you into it."

"They didn't coerce---"

"The hell they didn't!" Natwick leapt up from his seat and began pacing, anger clearly written across his chiseled features.

"They wouldn't force me to do something I didn't want to do. They offered to help me."

"Oh, come on, Malista! You're always waiting for Kim or Paris to tell you what to do!" Natwick complained, beginning to lose patience with her lack of righteous indignation. "Do you like being bossed around and intimidated? Is that why you let Castelle and Longoria get away with it?!"

"I do not!" she replied with resounding indignation, her accent becoming more obvious as she became agitated. "Tom is family. Harry is the man I love. I've given them the right to treat me familiarly. No one else has the right to call me nicknames. No one else has the right to touch me! I've given that right exclusively to Harry!! And he does NOT boss me around. Sometimes I wish he would. Or act more possessive. Then I would know that he understands that I belong to him."

Speechless for a moment, Natwick stopped his pacing and stared at her. With a shake of his head, he muttered, "Are all women this crazy or is it just Greek women?"

"I don't know. Maybe it is a Greek thing. How many Greek women do you know?" Shadow replied, tongue firmly in cheek.

"One too many," the big man responded with a mock frown as he resumed pacing the length of the room like a caged beast. "But let's get back to my original point---You were going along with the whole thing for Paris and Kim! Not for YOU! You're the one who's been offended. You're the one who should be angry about it. For you! Unless you liked the way they treated you?"

"Of course I didn't LIKE it!" she protested, turning her head back and forth to keep him in her line of vision. "I am angry with them."

"Then this is your chance to tell them so! Let it out! Tell them how they made you feel. Tell them how angry you are with them! Tell them you refuse to be treated this way---by anyone!" Natwick was really getting wound up now. Normally, he didn't lose his temper. He'd always prided himself on remaining stoic and detached. In fact, until he'd recently erupted in anger and punched out Harry Kim, it had been years since he'd really surrendered control of his emotions.

"Why are you so angry about this, George?"

Natwick exhaled a loud exasperated breath as he stopped in front of her chair and turned to face her. "Because any *real man* would be. These hound dogs give all men a bad reputation. Because I hate the fact that these guys are Starfleet. I despise them because they've spit on what Starfleet stands for. I know you never went to the Academy, Malista, so you might not know the oath. Every member of Starfleet takes an oath to serve, protect, and defend sentient beings. These two are making a mockery of that oath. They treated you as if your feelings didn't matter. As if you had no right to protest what they did. Doesn't that make YOU angry?"

There was a cold fire sizzling in the green eyes as she surged to her feet with feline grace. She couldn't seem to stand still. As she spoke she began to move restlessly, her hands flying through the air in gestures that punctuated her words. "Yes! Yes, it does. You're absolutely correct. Those pigs had no right to play sexual games with me." She turned away from him while she fought for enough control to spit the words out as if they could no longer be held back. "If my brothers were here---The Greek culture may be well known for its great legends, myths, and works of art, but we are also known as fierce fighters who hold a grudge very well. I think it's time for me to free that part of myself. I've kept that part of me caged for far too long." Her head snapped around so she could meet his eyes. With the tone of a royal command, she ordered, "Come on, George. I have something to do." She charged out the door into the corridor.

As he trailed along behind her, he asked, "What are you going to say? Are you going to follow the script?"

"No," she replied brusquely. "Tom wrote what he thought I should say. I think I'll make it up as I go along. I have been trained to fight. I know how to defend myself. I've just repressed all my aggressive instincts out of fear of losing control. Well, now you've convinced it may be time to lose control. Those men don't know what they've unleashed. I am a GREEK! We do not accept insults lightly. Hurry up! I'm building up to an overload and I don't want to waste energy!" She lengthened her quick-paced strides, muttering furiously under her breath.

Natwick had to almost jog to keep up. He triggered his commbadge. "Natwick to Hudson and Simms. We're on our way. ETA for you should be five minutes."

"Acknowledged." As the single word issued from two sources, Natwick and Shadow charged toward the holodeck ignoring the curious glances of other crewmembers who quickly stood aside to get out of their way.

******************

There was no doubt in the minds of all those waiting unseen behind the holographic curtaining screen that Malista Shadow had arrived on the holodeck. They didn't need the warning of the hissed whisper on the comm system. It was quite apparent that whatever Natwick had said to her had done the trick. She was taking charge. Natwick was following along behind her like an oversized pet pulled by an invisible leash. His expression was carefully controlled, but a close look at his eyes would have revealed a well hidden sense of gratification and anticipation. This was going to be good.

Malista stopped abruptly in the center of the middle ring of the circus setting. George had to quickly catch his balance to keep from crashing into her. She spun on her heel and tilted her head back to look up into his face. "I know the others are in the Security Office monitoring this. Mikel and Ethan are going to wait just inside the doorway. Where are you going to be?"

"Where do you want me?" the big man asked calmly.

Shadow considered it for a moment. "Would you mind waiting across the ring on the other side of the tent? If you're standing too close, they'll be watching you. I want all their attention. But I want you close enough to intervene if I need you to."

"You're afraid they'll make this a physical confrontation?" That couldn't be what she meant. "They're stupid, but they aren't *that* stupid."

"Don't be silly," Malista rebuked. "I know you and Ethan and Mikel wouldn't let them hurt ME. I'm just afraid that I may lose my temper. I want you to stop me if I forget myself and try to hurt them." Her Greek accent was back and her voice was thick with emotion. Her emerald eyes had taken on a steely cast.

George wondered if she'd been taking lessons from Captain Janeway. "What are you going to say?" he asked as he moved to the position she'd indicated.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her color was high and she looked excited rather than anxious. "For once in my life, I'm going to open my mouth and just say whatever comes out---without thinking about the consequences. I don't think those two knew just how close they came to---. They almost scared me into doing something rash. Remember what we talked about, George?"

With a wince, he suddenly recalled the substance of their discussion on the use of deadly force. "Oh, yeah." He hoped Paris wasn't going to get more than he had bargained for with this little confrontation. And that the captain wouldn't pop a warp coil if Malista confessed to carrying a concealed weapon. Natwick went into Security Officer mode, standing alert and ready for action.

Malista fixed her eyes on the doorway and waited.

They didn't have to wait long.

*****************

"What the hell is going on?" Lt. Laro Longoria slammed to a halt in front of the holodeck entrance as he caught sight of Crewman Paul Castelle approaching from the opposite direction under the watchful eye of Ensign Ethan Simms. Longoria's escort, Ensign Mikel Hudson, kept a firm grip on his upper arm and urged him forward as Simms did the same with Castelle.

"You have an appointment to keep, gentlemen," Mikel commented, and continued under his breath, "And I use the term loosely."

Longoria sent him a sour glance. "Exactly what is going on here, Hudson?" He didn't meet the eyes of his co-conspirator.

"Your presence has been requested on the holodeck," Ethan Simms replied. "We're just here to make sure you accept the invitation."

Once inside the holodeck, Simms and Hudson released their holds on their 'invited guests' and took up their positions against the wall on either side of the holodeck entrance.

Fascinated by the setting, Longoria and Castelle looked around the holographic scene, taking in all the details of the circus setting. Then their eyes alit on Crewman Malista Shadow standing in the center ring wearing a robe. With an almost queenly gesture, she motioned them toward the front row seats directly in front of her. Uneasily, they moved to comply and planted themselves on the bleacher, staring at her defiantly.

Malista studied them with a detached air, standing perfectly still and quiet. As the silence stretched on, the two men's discomfort increased. The tension in the air was somehow a living breathing thing with a pulse that each person there could feel as if it brushed across his or her skin. Those behind the curtain exchanged glances, each one wondering if Malista had decided not to say anything after all.

"Are you going to tell us why you had us brought here, Crewman Shadow?" Longoria demanded. He emphasized her rank, a not very subtle reminder that he was a lieutenant and, as such, her superior in the chain of command.

She blinked.

Castelle smirked.

That was the last straw. Malista casually lifted a hand and waved it at their surroundings. "Do you like my circus program? It's a holographic representation of my family's circus tent. We used to tour the colonies in our sector when we weren't busy on our farm."

Longoria started to his feet. "I'm sure that's very interesting---"

"Sit down!" It was unmistakably an order.

Which, to his subsequent fury, Longoria found himself automatically obeying.

"You've been trying to get me alone to have 'a little talk' for weeks now. Well, here's your chance, boys." Shadow crossed her arms and awaited a response.

Castelle cast a nervous glance across the tent toward Natwick, then back towards the entrance where Hudson and Simms had stationed themselves. The three Security Officers had all assumed their 'guarding' stance and looked formidable and ready for action. In fact, Natwick's glare suggested he would welcome any excuse to pound into dust either or both of the smaller men facing Malista. "We're not exactly alone," Castelle stated.

"This is as alone as you're going to get with me," Shadow said flatly. Nonchalantly, she reached down and untied her robe. Letting it slip off her shoulders, she caught it with her fingertips and flung it to lie on the bleachers near them.

Involuntarily, her prey each sucked in a deep breath as they caught sight of her lovely body in the tight, green spangled tights. Ignoring them, she stretched and ruffled her hair in an enticing manner that couldn't have been outdone by a Risan pleasure girl on her best day. This was not the intimidated girl they'd been lusting after who shrank away and tried to hide herself from their gaze. This was a woman who wasn't ashamed of her body or her own attractiveness.

Her face was impassive as she explained, "This is the costume I wear when I workout on the trapeze. You've made enough comments about wanting to see my body. So take a good long look. Consider it a gift. The last one you're ever going to get from me."

Longoria leaned back, crossed his arms, and leered at her. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ms. Shadow," he drawled mockingly. "And neither does my friend here. By all means, go ahead and stage whatever little drama you have planned here. All we have to do is keep silent."

Castelle sniggered and nodded his agreement. "You think we're going to admit to anything while you've got your three trained monkeys watching us?" Emboldened by the lack of reaction from the Security Officers whom he presumed to be out of hearing range, Castelle continued. "What did you have to do for them to get them to go along with this little stunt?"

The expression on Malista's face as she looked at the two of them was that of someone studying a particularly revolting insect or rodent. With a sigh, she shook her head. "I cannot believe that I was afraid of you two. You are just so---pathetic."

Their pride stung, the two men exchanged glances. They weren't sure how to deal with this. "Are you tired of playing hard to get? Is that it, chica?" Longoria purred. "Is this your way of letting us know you've changed your mind? That now you're interested?"

Malista's jaw dropped. "Oh, Zeus! Tom was right! You two really are dimwits!"

"You told Paris---what did you tell Paris?" Castelle hastily rephrased his question to avoid incriminating himself. He wasn't prepared to bet the Security Officers couldn't hear the conversation, no matter how far away they were.

"It doesn't matter what she told Paris or anyone else," Longoria snapped viciously. His handsome face seemed twisted and ugly. "It still comes down to her word against ours. Remember that and keep your mouth shut!"

"Oh, Tom's not the only one I told," Malista informed them. "I filed a formal report with Lieutenant Tuvok. I'm sure he's read it by now---and passed it on to Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay."

"You can't *prove* anything!" Longoria reiterated.

Shadow gifted him with an extremely insincere smile. "Oh, I don't think I'll be pressing formal charges," she told them earnestly. "I just wanted my side of the story to be on the record just in case...." She let her voice trail off.

"In case what?" Castelle blurted.

"You boys really aren't very bright, or you're very new at this. One of the rules of victimizing others is that you should pick on someone who won't fight back." Malista strolled closer, fighting not to flinch away as they ogled her figure. She refused to back off any longer. "Now as Tom and George---" She tossed a look and a smile in Natwick's direction before returning her attention to her targets and continuing, "As Tom and George said, my main mistake was that I thought if I ran from you and avoided you, that you would figure out that I wasn't interested in playing games with you. Evidently I overestimated your intelligence."

"Now, listen you---" Longoria started to his feet, but caught a glimpse of the snarling visage of George Natwick and dropped back onto the bleacher.

"No, *you* listen. I am going to have my say! After that, you can go for all I care. For the record, I am NOT interested in a relationship with either or both of you, sexual or otherwise. I want you to pretend I'm invisible and I'll do the same. Unless it's on a matter of ship's business I don't want to see you, talk to you, or acknowledge your existence. Is that clear? Or do I need to spell it out for you?"

The two exchanged sullen glances and didn't speak.

"There was one more thing you overlooked in choosing me as your victim," Shadow added. She began pacing back and forth in front of them, arms folded tightly across her chest in unconscious imitation of Tom Paris. "And that is the fact that everyone has their limits. Now, you two attended Starfleet Academy. I'm just a simple farm girl from a small outworld colony so I don't have your level of sophistication or education or training." She stopped to take a deep breath.

She was maintaining eye contact and speaking with conviction, no hesitation evident as she continued. "But one thing I do have, I was trained to fight. By my brothers. By the Maquis. And by my natural instincts as a proud Greek. Greeks quite frequently have hot tempers and we fight fiercely when we choose to fight. I know you might not have noticed. I haven't given much evidence of my fighting abilities since I've been on Voyager. You probably think I'm a coward or a fragile doll. But you are wrong."

She stopped directly in front of them. "Castelle, when you confronted me in the turbolift, you have no idea how much danger *you* were in. Longoria, when you accosted me in the lab and cornered me, you don't have the faintest idea how close you came to pushing me over the edge of rational behavior."

"What are you talking about now, chica?" Longoria sneered contemptuously.

"I'm talking about this," Malista said quite calmly. She was suddenly holding a wicked looking knife with a long blade in her right hand and she was holding it as if she knew how to wield it. "And DON'T call me chica."

Natwick, Simms, and Hudson snapped to attention. A weapon? 'Where the hell did she hide that thing in those tights?' all three of them wondered. George made a mental note to ask her later. He was always interested in possible hiding places for concealed weapons.

It was a question which also occurred to those behind the holographic curtain. Janeway threw a look of consternation at Tuvok and Chakotay, before turning her gaze to the others. Harry Kim looked appalled. B'Elanna was beaming with approval.

Tom Paris was trying much too hard to look innocent as he thought, 'Oops. Forgot to talk to her about that damned knife!'. With a weak smile, Paris shrugged helplessly at his captain and turned his attention back towards the scene in the center of the holodeck.

"When you two started targeting me, I started carrying this. It belonged to my great-great-grandfather." Malista caressed the blade with her left hand, pricking her index finger with the sharp point. She watched the drop of blood bead up, then placed the tip of her finger in her mouth and sucked on it in an unconsciously sensuous manner.

Longoria and Castelle abruptly felt a need for a drink. A strong drink. "You wouldn't have used that thing---" Castelle blustered.

She thoughtfully regarded first the knife then him. With a scary smile, she pointed the knife at him. "Oh, yes. I would have. If you'd cornered me. If you'd touched me one more time. If I had been sure you sent those messages. If you'd scared me a little bit more than you did. If you'd threatened to rape me---"

"We never threatened to rape anyone!" Longoria protested, as if outraged.

"Oh, I got very, very close to using this on you," Shadow said almost wistfully. "When you ambushed me in the lab. When you trapped me between the bulkhead, the table, and you. When you touched me without my permission and wouldn't let me move away from you. I was just about to pull this little darling out of my boot when Gerron came in." She caressed the knife fondly and went on in the same sweet, hard voice. "I was on the verge of gutting you. And I would have claimed it was self defense. With that tear in my uniform and the cut on my shoulder, I think they would have believed me. You really should thank Gerron Tem, Lieutenant. He saved your life."

Longoria, looking into her eyes, believed every word. "We didn't mean any harm!" he objected. He was suddenly very glad for his own sake that the three Security Officers were present. The woman was a barbarian! A knife?

Somehow the knife in Malista's hand disappeared back into its hiding place. This freed her hands to gesticulate as she drove home her point. "You didn't care how you made me feel! You scared me and you liked the feeling it gave you! Every time I scurried out of your path or dodged your groping hands, you got some kind of sick thrill because you had power over me. And I was so stupid that I thought if I made myself less attractive, you would leave me alone. But that just fed into your power fantasy, didn't it? You expanded your game to other Maquis women because I never told you no and made it stick. Well, now I'm telling you clearly so you can't possibly misunderstand me! NO! I'm NOT interested in you or your games! No, I won't be your victim any more! It stops NOW!!" It was a command, imperious and definite. "I don't know if the captain will take some kind of disciplinary action against you. All I wanted to tell you is that you will NOT treat me as a sexual toy!" Her ferocity was supremely convincing.

"You think Kim will---"

"Shut up! You're not fit to speak Harry Kim's name!" She paused until her glare caused them to subside back into silence. "My personal relationships are just that---personal and none of your concern. My friends know what you've done and how you've behaved. If this ever happens again---to any woman on this ship---you will have ME to deal with. And Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Tuvok, Tom Paris, B'Elanna Torres, Harry Kim....and others. Your lives will become a living hell if you persist in this kind of behavior. It will not be tolerated. I would suggest you get some counseling. If the only way you can attract a woman's attention is by torturing her and sending her obscene messages, then you have some psychological problems that need to be addressed." With that final outburst, Malista took a few steps back to allow them room to stand.

Slightly paler than when they'd arrived, the two men got to their feet. "Can we leave now?" Castelle choked out.

"Please do." Malista calmly watched them go. As soon as the doors slid closed behind them, she took a deep breath and shakily sank down onto the nearest bleacher. Her whole body was trembling with reaction to the stress.

Natwick, Simms, and Hudson were at her side in moments. "Are you okay?" Ethan asked.

Shadow shook her head, got to her feet, and concentrated on getting her breathing back under control. "Computer, end program," she said as soon as she was able. She wanted to get out of there. The sudden appearance of the hidden watchers took her breath away again.

It was almost a race to see who would reach her first, Harry Kim or Tom Paris. It was a tie. Harry pulled her up and into his arms, locking her into a tight embrace that she welcomed with a smile and a sigh. "I thought you were going to be in the Security Office!"

The others present backed away slightly, forming a half circle, trying not to crowd the shaken young woman.

"Tom lied," Kim announced, passing the blame for a mutual decision without a twinge of conscience.

"Hey!" Paris exclaimed. "That's not fair! You agreed----"

"It doesn't matter," Torres interrupted. "You did very well! If they don't get the message now---"

Tuvok stepped forward, catching the captain's eye. "There is a security issue to be addressed. Carrying concealed weapons without permission is a violation of four separate Starfleet regulations." He ignored the impatient looks sent his way from several of those present.

"Yes. Ms. Shadow? About that knife?" Kathryn Janeway inquired in a dangerously ominous tone.

Shadow straightened away from Harry and came to attention. With an impossibly innocent expression, she asked, "What knife, Captain?"

Gray eyes locked with green in silent communication.

'Damn!' Paris thought. 'She's good. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd doubt the knife's existence myself.'

All eyes were on the two women waiting for the next volley. A smile twitched at Janeway's lips. "IF there was a knife, and IF it was being carried as a concealed weapon, that would be a blatant violation of ship's policy and Starfleet regulations. You do understand that, Crewman Shadow?"

The taller woman nodded an acknowledgment. "IF there was a knife and IF it was being carried as a concealed weapon because someone didn't feel safe---well, that wouldn't be a problem any more, would it?"

Janeway conceded the logic of that statement with a tilt of her head. "That's true."

Commander Chakotay stepped forward and took Shadow's hand. "Congratulations, Malista. You did a very good job of standing up for yourself today. I don't think you'll have any more trouble from those two."

"I just have one question," Tom said angrily. "What was that about Longoria cornering you in the Science lab? You told me they brushed up against you. You didn't tell me they got physically threatening----"

"Tom, it's over," B'Elanna insisted, trying to distract him.

Stubbornly, Paris stared at Shadow, nonverbally demanding an answer. With Paris before her and Kim behind her, she could have been forgiven for feeling trapped. It didn't seem to bother her, however.

With matching obstinacy showing in the chin she raised in his direction, she told Tom the blunt truth. "If I had told you about it, you would have overreacted."

"Overreacted?" Tom erupted. "To some pervert assaulting my *sister* !! You're damned right I'd react---"

"And get yourself in trouble!!" Malista shouted right back in his face. "It was my problem and I took care of it! That's what you wanted, that's what I did, so get out of my face about it!"

George Natwick, the troublemaker, began to clap. He was quickly joined by Simms, Hudson, the Delaneys, and all the others present---except for Tom Paris, who stood blushing a fiery red as a grin stole across his face. He wrinkled his nose at Shadow. "Damn, Sis. Teach you a bit of independence and you just take the hoverball and smash it back at me!" He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Slightly embarrassed, Shadow smiled gently at him. "I'm sorry, Tom. I'm the one who's overreacting now. I'm just---edgy, I guess."

"Oh, don't let him off the hook that easily," Torres complained. "At least make him apologize!"

Paris turned a frown on his beloved. Before he could speak, Malista's words drew his attention once more.

"No, really, it is my fault. I should have told him everything. But if you had known about it and something had---" She broke off and swallowed hard. "If the hypothetical knife had been used, you would have been an accessory. I didn't want to be to blame for dragging you into that kind of mess. I never should have let it go this far. George was right. They were bullies and cowards. I would have seen that for myself if I just wasn't so stupid---"

Tom reached forward and smacked her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention. "I told you before: Don't call yourself stupid!"

In a heartbeat, Tom found himself nose to nose with a furious Harry Kim who'd placed himself between Malista and Paris. "You keep your hands off her!"

No one could recall ever having seen Harry lose his temper before, but lost it he had---and with his best friend.

Taken aback, Tom blinked and, though indignant at Kim's reaction, tried to placate his friend. "Hey, Harry, she hits me like that all the time! You know I wouldn't hurt her! I just want her to remember that I told her not to call herself 'stupid'."

"Harry, it didn't hurt," Malista said placatingly, trying unsuccessfully to get around Kim and between the two men.

"That's not the point!" Kim insisted tersely, still glaring up at Paris.

The lieutenant was righteously indignant. "I'm allowed to touch her! She doesn't mind! She's my sister!"

Not appeased in the slightest, the furious Kim yelled, "Well, she may be your *sister* but she's going to be my WIFE and you and everybody else better keep your hands off of her!"

A profound silence hung in the air for several seconds. B'Elanna Torres was the first to recover her voice. "Were you planning on asking her, Starfleet? Or are you just going to order her to show up for the wedding?" she asked dryly.

Harry's brain abruptly caught up with Harry's mouth. His mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to get up the courage to turn and see Malista's reaction.

Janeway clapped a hand over her mouth and refused to look at Chakotay who was studying the grids on the wall of the holodeck. She didn't feel a fit of the giggles would be appropriate at this time. But the look on Harry's face was nearly enough to upset her control completely. The Delaneys were smiling smugly and hugging each other in their glee. Hudson and Simms seemed amused. George Natwick was wearing a stoic mask that hid any feelings he might have about the situation. Tuvok seemed to be studying all the various reactions.

"All right, Harry! Finally a verbal commitment! See, Sis? I told you he loved you!" Paris shouted. Wearing a big grin, he slapped a friendly hand on Kim's shoulder and shook him.

Since he wasn't turning to face her, Malista stepped around Harry and moved between him and Tom. She seemed to be suspended between disbelief and hope. Tentatively, she whispered, "Harry?"

His hands shot forward and latched onto her shoulders as if he feared she would run from him. "Malista, I'm sorry. That's not the way I meant to do this."

Catching the eyes of those around the couple, Janeway jerked her head toward the holodeck entrance. Everyone started moving in that direction. Except Tom Paris. He wanted to see this. He was not allowed to make that choice. Torres latched onto his arm and dragged him out into the corridor.

"Harry, if you didn't mean it---"

"Of course I meant it!" Kim's sincerity was convincing.

"But you know I'm not a----"

"It doesn't matter, Malista. I know you're the woman I want by my side for the rest of my life," he interrupted gently. "Damn! This isn't the way this was supposed to happen. I had it all planned. There was going to be music, candlelight, poetry---I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Are you really sure?" Her eyes pleaded for reassurance.

"Yes. For days now, I've been searching the database for just the right love poem----"

"Harry, my angel?" It was a whisper.

"Yes, Cookie?"

"It doesn't matter about the poem. I love you, Harry Kim." Her green eyes were dancing with joy.

"I love you, Malista Shadow." A smile began to dawn as he let go of his plans for a 'proper' proposal. It didn't seem to matter anyway since he'd gotten the right answer to the question. The question he hadn't really asked yet. "Malista, we need to talk---"

"Harry, I never thought you'd ask---"

"I'm sorry. I should have---"

"No, it's my fault----"

"It isn't! I'm the one who expected you to read my mind," Kim confessed. "I thought you knew that I loved you. I thought you knew that I wouldn't have pursued the relationship if I didn't have a permanent commitment in mind."

"I didn't expect any man to ever want to marry me," she mumbled. "My father said--"

"Malista, your father was wrong. Any man would consider himself lucky to marry you." His hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs brushing over the high cheekbones as a single teardrop spilled over from her damp emerald eyes.

"Harry, I don't know if---I mean, I do love you, but I'm not sure I'm really---ready to get married. I mean---oh, Zeus! I don't know exactly what I mean."

He smiled gently and brushed away the tear. "It's okay, Malista. We've settled the most important issues. I love you. You love me. We want to get married. That doesn't mean we have to get married today. Or next week. Or next month. We'll take all the time we need to be sure we're both ready. You've had one crisis after another in your life lately. I don't want our marriage to be the next one. Now do we have anything else we need to discuss?"

"What will Tom say? He's probably planning the wedding as we speak." There was amusement and affection in her tone.

"Tom Paris can mind his own business. If he wants to arrange a wedding, he can get to work on arranging his own," Kim said peremptorily.

With a slight wince, Malista decided to abandon that topic and avoid controversy while she could. She could see herself now, caught between the two friends. She would just have to count on B'Elanna Torres to keep Tom in line. And if anyone could do it, it would be B'Elanna.

"Harry, can we discuss that later? Right now---would you please shut up and kiss me?" Her smile blossomed into radiance though her lips trembled.

"I can do that," he assured her. And demonstrated.

*********

Once the holodeck doors slid closed, Paris frowned down at Torres. "Do you realize they're standing there in an empty holodeck?"

"So? They're together," Torres said.

Paris rolled his eyes. "They need a proper setting. Computer, run Paris Program Lake Como seven and audio track Paris 214 in Holodeck One. There, that should do it." He

smiled smugly. "A cool moonlit night and romantic music, in case they feel like dancing."

"It has definitely been an interesting evening," Kathryn Janeway remarked.

"Oh, yes, I'd say so," Chakotay agreed. "I don't think I've ever actually been present before at a proposal of marriage."

"Is that what that was?" Jenny Delaney asked mischievously. That did it. Everyone began to laugh. Except Tuvok, of course. And George Natwick.

Then Tom, with a gleam in his eye, said, "That's right! We have a wedding to plan!"

Simms, Hudson, Natwick, and Tuvok perhaps feeling their services were no longer required chose that moment to slip away.

The Delaney twins squealed with excitement in unison. "Let's go look for dresses to wear as bridesmaids!" they chorused and took off for their own quarters.

Torres shot a grumpy look in the direction of their departure before grabbing Paris' arm again. "Tom, it's their wedding. They get to plan it."

"I'm going to be very involved in this wedding!" Paris protested. "I'm her brother. I'm giving the bride away!"

"It's customary to wait until you're asked, Mr. Paris," Chakotay chided. "Besides she might want someone older to perform that function. Someone who has provided a fatherly image---"

"You!?" Paris squawked. "Come on, Commander!"

"I think both of you are getting ahead of yourselves," Janeway reproved. "If and when there is a wedding to plan, it is up to Mr. Kim and Ms. Shadow to make the plans and inform any or all of us of the roles they want us to play in it. And at this time, I would like to suggest we stop lurking in the corridor outside the holodeck. Give them some privacy."

"Aye, Captain!" Torres agreed snappily and began towing Paris away in the direction of the turbolift. She had an idea that the two of them could use some privacy of their own. She also could think of better things to do than planning a wedding for their best friends.

As Paris and Torres vanished around the bend in the corridor, the captain and commander heard Tom complaining. "B'Elanna, you know we need to help those two or they'll mess it up. Wouldn't you like to be the maid of honor?----Ow! All right, I get your point. They can plan it themselves! B'Ella, have you ever thought about taking dancing lessons? Malista knows a few----Owwwwwwww!"

Chakotay's dimples deepened as he flashed a grin at his captain. "I hope B'Elanna can keep Tom occupied for the next few hours while Harry and Malista, uh, settle some things."

Looping her arm through his, she smiled back at him as they began to stroll down the corridor. "I think our chief engineer is innovative enough to come up with some activity to keep his mind off of what Harry and Malista might be up to."

And Kathryn Janeway was right.

****************

The engagement announcement of Harry Kim and Malista Shadow settled a great deal of the gossip about their relationship. Voyager's gossips and gamblers had to look elsewhere for topics of discussion and issues to place bets on.

Three items of interest concerned the same pair of crewmen. First, no one had managed to discover why Lt. Laro Longoria and Crewman Paul Castelle had suddenly been assigned to two weeks of cleaning deuterium filters during Gamma shift. Some people believed it had something to do with Castelle's behavior in the holodeck and his fight with Gerron. Others argued that if that were the case, it would have been Gerron, not Longoria, who shared the duty with Castelle. Second, each man also was attending counseling sessions with the Holographic Doctor and Commander Chakotay. No one was able to ascertain the topic of those sessions either.

The third topic of discussion was the sudden incredible streak of bad luck that seemed to be haunting Lt. Longoria and Crewman Castelle. It seemed that during a two week period, the two men suffered every possible malfunction or combinations of malfunctions in every possible piece of equipment, furniture, or fixture in their quarters---and it was never the same problem twice. Though several different maintenance teams had repeatedly checked the equipment, no cause had been found for the malfunctions.

No one understood why the problems only seemed to occur in those two cabins.

It was a mystery.

Bets were being placed on what would next go wrong and on how long their bad luck streak would last.

If, for some reason, he had been asked to speculate, Tom Paris would have ventured a guess---or maybe a prediction?--- that it would continue for at LEAST six weeks.

The End


End file.
